Enemy Incognito
by Wynn
Summary: Complete. AU S7 w AtS. A sinister plot is developed to takeover the Hellmouth and kill the SG. Who is behind it? Who are enemies and who are friends? Who can be trusted? Faith returns to SunnyD.
1. Last Resort

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Spike, BtVS, etc.  If I did I would be very rich and have the opportunity to speak to James Marsters daily.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, WB, UPN, etc. own the characters.  I'm just borrowing them for entertainment.

Author's note: My new fic.  I'm really excited about it.  I've written ahead, so updates will be weekly (either posted on Tues or Wed.)  Mucho thanks to SpikeLover7 for being my beta.  Thank you for your encouragement, suggestions, and your help.  Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Chapter One: Last Resort

By: Wynn

            He hated the cold.  He hated everything about it.  How it seeped into your bones, numbing everything until you felt absolutely nothing.  Until you felt like you were nothing.  He hated winter and he hated snow; he didn't like ice cream or popsicles or iced tea, not because he didn't like tea, but because of the ice.  He never took cold showers, and he loathed walking on the cold floor barefoot.  He hated the cold, but it was all that he had.  All that he could be.  Not that he hadn't tried to be warm.  He had.  He was always in constant motion, a blur of movement, of thought, and of sound desperately trying not to be cold.  

            Then one night after living in the cold for so long, he found warmth in the most unexpected and unlikely place.  He looked up and saw the sun staring down at him.  Mesmerized by the radiance, he didn't feel cold.  Not at that moment or any after.  He touched the sun and was consumed by the heat.  The night sky burned, the hard earth scorched, and he came alive when the sun reached out and touched him too.  Passions ignited from their first touch, escalating into a fiery dance, a spontaneous combustion that had rocked the world.  Unrestrained, the warm and the cool, the fire and the ice, the sun and the moon had exploded in front of them, between them, and within them, destroying them both.  He had left his sun and his sun had left him, probably never to return.  At least not without one hell of a fight.  But that was what he was good at, fighting.  Everything else he royally bollixed up.  

            His tendency to screw everything up is what had sent Spike to Africa.  He was tired of the confusion, of the misunderstandings, of the one step forward-two steps back that existed between himself and Buffy.  His last attempt to salvage their relationship had horribly deviated from his original intention, and he had hurt Buffy in a way he had sworn to himself he never would.  He snapped under the pressure of the mixed signals and half-truths, leaving Buffy shaken and angry and himself guilt ridden and confused.  Desperate for a change from the 'can't be a monster, can't be a man,' Spike had taken fate by the balls and committed himself to the only option he could think of to solve the dilemma: the return of his soul.  

            Which is how he had ended up in the dark African cave decorated with the brutal primal art and inhabited by the powerful demon with the glowing eyes that had placed his hand on Spike's chest and said, "Very well.  We will return your soul."  Pain raced through him, pain unlike anything he had ever experienced.  He felt as though he was burning and freezing at the same time.  He heard himself scream, felt his throat go raw from the continuous scream of agony.  The demon's hand rested on his chest for a moment, for eternity, before it lifted itself off.  Spike collapsed onto the cold stone floor, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face.  He inhaled harshly.  The demon moved past the prone vampire and said, "We have fulfilled your request," as he disappeared into the shadows of the cave.  Curled into a fetal position, Spike closed his eyes and muttered a weak "Bloody hell" before slipping into unconsciousness.

*                      *                      *

            Awareness drifted slowly through Spike's mind.  He opened his eyes and attempted to move, hissing sharply at the bolt of pain that shot through him.  Remaining still, he glanced at his surroundings.  The cave was dark, and the demon was nowhere in sight.  Gritting his teeth, Spike slowly stretched his body from the fetal position and rolled onto his back.  He lay on the cold stone floor, panting, adjusting to the overall ache that permeated his body.  Spike muttered another "Bloody hell" before pulling himself into a sitting position.  He glanced down at his hands, noticing that the burns from his fight with the fire demon were gone.  A quick search of the rest of his body revealed that the rest of his battle wounds had healed during his unconsciousness too.  

            Spike stood, bracing himself against the cave wall.  His muscles protested as he began to walk out of the cave; he stumbled over to his boots and shirt, slipping the boots on over his feet and leaving them unlaced.  The African sun was setting as Spike reached the mouth of the cave.  He squinted his eyes against the dying light and waited for night to emerge.  'Wanker Angel sure as hell never mentioned getting a soul would feel like this.  Feel like I've been run over by a bloody tank.'  He pulled his shirt over his head and laced his shoes as the last remnants of sunlight disappeared, and he walked out of the cave into the African night.

            Bonfires were ablaze in the nearby village.  Spike could hear the conversation of the natives as he bypassed the settlement, not wanting another confrontation with the tribesmen.  He doubted they would have interfered with his leaving, but he didn't want to test the theory.  The moon hung brilliantly in the sky, illuminating the path that led from the village to the ruins of a temple.  The roof of the temple had collapsed and a vast array of flora and fauna had taken up residence in the stone ruins.  Spike ducked under an archway and entered the structure, eyes searching the shadows.  A sound to his left caused him to drop into a fighting stance.  He heard a chuckle and relaxed his posture.  A small figure emerged from the darkness; he was dressed horribly, a lime green shirt and brown pants covered by a black jacket.  A bowler hat completed the eclectic ensemble.

            "Kinda jumpy there soul boy?"  Whistler asked as he moved into the moonlight.  He looked at Spike; his eyes squinted as he examined the vampire's face.  "Hmm… better than Angel was the night he was cursed with his soul.  He broke down in tears the second he remembered everything he had done as Angelus."

            "I know what I've done.  I didn't go through all of this to feel guilty for what I've done in the past.  I can't change anything, so brooding about it like Peaches is pointless."  He glanced down at his hands and closed his eyes for a moment.  When he opened them again, his pale blue eyes glistened with unshed tears.  He said quietly, "I won the soul to stop me from doing any more harm… from causing more pain."  

            Whistler stood quietly as the blonde blinked away the tears.  After Spike had left Sunnydale on his motorcycle, the Powers That Be dispatched Whistler to intercept him.  He caught up with Spike halfway to Los Angeles and offered to help him in his quest for a soul.  Convincing the unstable vampire to come with him had been difficult for the immortal.  Spike was irrational, focused only on gaining his soul; after a few dodged blows and a few persuasive pieces of information, Spike had calmed.  He listened patiently to Whistler's description of the African cave and its glowing eyed demon, and, after a moment of contemplation, he had swung at Whistler again and took off on his motorcycle.  It was another hour before the immortal intercepted Spike again.  Exasperated at the demon's persistence and desperate to regain his soul, the blonde vampire agreed to accompany Whistler to Africa, under the threat of ripping the immortal's head off if the trip resulted in nothing.  Whistler had only smiled and opened a portal next to the deserted highway.  The pair stepped through and emerged under the night sky inside of the dilapidated temple.  Whistler pointed down the path, sat on a stone bench, and watched Spike stalk out of the temple.

            "Are you ready to go back?  There are big things waiting for you."

            Spike shook his head.  "Change of plans mate.  I'm not going back to Sunnyhell yet.  Need to… talk with someone first."

            Whistler stared at Spike, who glared in return.  "Are you sure about this?  Big stuff's going down… they might need you there."

            Spike arched an eyebrow.  "They never need me.  What good can a demon do?"

            "More than you think."  Whistler sighed.  This vampire was always unpredictable.  After all, it wasn't everyday a soulless demon wanted the return of his soul.  He should have expected Spike to change the plan.  "So where do you want to go?"

            The corner of Spike's mouth twisted up into a small smile.  "L.A."  A visit to the poof was long overdue. 

*                      *                      *

            The interior of the Hyperion was like a tomb.  Quiet and dark, with the slightly abandoned feeling that comes from a loss of activity.  Spike stepped into the lobby, letting the door swing shut behind him.  He was dressed in his clothes from Africa, black jeans, black long sleeve T-shirt, and black boots.  His blonde hair was a mass of riotous curls on top of his head.  He examined the darkened lobby.  There was a light emanating from the office behind the lobby desk; Spike crossed the entrance hall, senses outstretched for signs of activity.  He picked up a business card from one of the small stacks and read the name: Cordelia Chase.  'Looks like the cheerleader's still here.  Surprised the Hair Gelled Wonder hasn't driven her off yet.'  Spike didn't recognize the names on the other business cards: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn.  

            He entered the small office.  A haphazard pile of case files lay on an oak desk, along with opened books and the lighted lamp.  File cabinets lined one wall, and two leather chairs were placed in front of the desk.  Spike sat in the chair behind the desk and propped his feet on the wood surface.  He was apprehensive of coming to the hotel and asking for Angel's help.  Their last encounter hadn't been the most friendly, what with the torture session over the Ring of Amara.  'A lot's happened since then though.  He's probably forgotten about it.'  Spike grimaced as he recalled his own torture at the hands of the hellgod Glory.  'Then again maybe not.  Probably should tell him about me and Buffy from across the room.  Better yet from across the planet.'  

            "May I help you?"

            Spike jumped out of the chair, knocking it on to its side.  He was so lost in thought of the various tortures Angel would be likely to use on him he hadn't noticed the approach of the thin brunette.  The girl took a step backwards at Spike's sudden movement and looked at him apprehensively.  She had long, curly brown hair and big eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses; she wore a flowing dress and a pair of sandals.  

            "I'm sorry," she continued softly, "but we're not taking on any new clients right now.  We're kind of short staffed at the moment.  I could recommend another detective agency for you to use if you're interested."

            "Who are you?"

            She stared at him for a moment, thrown momentarily by his directness.  "My name is Fred.  I work here at Angel Investigations.  Your name is…?"

            "Where's Angel?"

            Fred glanced down at the floor.  "He's… uh… he's out at the moment.  I could take a message for you, but it'll probably be a while before he gets back to you."

            Spike tilted his head to the side at the girl's obvious lying.  He wondered where the brooding wanker had run off to this time.  "What about the cheerleader?  Does she know where he is?"

            "Cor-Cordelia?  She's… uh… on vacation."

            Spike smirked.  "Vacation, huh?  How about the Irish guy?  Is he on vacation too?"

            Fred looked at him, puzzled.  "Irish guy?  Do you mean Doyle?  He died a few years ago."

            The blonde vampire sighed.  He picked up the fallen chair and slouched into it.  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.  "So what you're saying is Angel's out, Cordelia's on vacation, Doyle's dead, and you're the only one left to uphold the 'helping the hopeless' mantra of the brooding one?"  He placed his head in his hands and muttered, "Should've gone to see the Watcher.  Poofter always has to make things difficult."  He looked up in time to see a young black man approach the office.  He was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt.  Fred turned and smiled at the new arrival.  The young man approached Fred and gave her a squeeze on the shoulder.

            "Who's this?"

            Fred glanced at Spike, then back at the young man.  "He didn't tell me.  He wants to know where Angel is."

            The young man stepped in front of Fred and glared at Spike, who was still seated behind the desk.  Spike chuckled at his show of machismo.  "No need to get all manly there.  If I wanted to hurt the bird, I would've done it the second she walked in."  He sighed again as the man stared mute at him.  "Look if you don't want to tell me where Brood Boy is I'll find him myself.  I just want to talk to him."  Spike stood and moved around the desk.  He maneuvered around the silent pair and exited the office.  

            "Angel's missing."

            Spike halted at Fred's admission.

            "Fred!"

            "I'm sorry, Gunn.  But we've looked for Angel for over a week and we still haven't found him.  Lorne left, Cordelia's gone, and Wes is missing too.  We need help."

            "We don't even know this guy.  We can't trust him."

            Spike turned around and approached the arguing duo.  "My name's Spike.  Do you know Darla and Dru?"  At Gunn's slow nod of ascent, he continued, "Dru's my sire.  A long time ago it used to be the four of us, Darla, Dru, me, and Angelus.  But now I live in Sunnydale, and I know Buffy and Dawn and everyone else there.  I need to talk to Angel.  I don't want to kill him.  Yet."

            Gunn and Fred glanced at each other for a moment before Gunn nodded.  Fred turned to Spike and said, "Angel's been missing over a week.  He went out one night to… uh… well he went out, and he never came back.  When Cordelia went missing too, we thought that they may have gone away together, but Lorne told us before he left that Cordelia contacted him and that she asce- went away somewhere but that she was Ok.  We've checked all of the places we thought Angel might go, but we haven't found him yet."

            "Did you try a locator spell?"

            "No," answered Gunn.  "We don't usually do stuff like that."

            "I used to know a witch in LA that could do locator spells.  She tracked down Peaches for me when I wanted the Ring of Amara.  Could ask her to do it."  He looked at Gunn and Fred.  They glanced at each other again, then back at him, and nodded.  "Right then.  Where's the phone?"

*                      *                      *


	2. Helping the Hopeless

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Spike, etc.  I wish I did.  Unfortunately for me they are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, etc.  I use them for entertainment purposes only.

Author's note: Thank you, SpikeLover7, for beta-ing my fic.  And, as always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Chapter Two: Helping the Hopeless

By: Wynn

            The interior of the Magic Box was destroyed.  Mystical books and artifacts lay charred and demolished under broken shelves and tables.  The loft had collapsed, blocking the entrance to the training room, and the cash register and the counter it had resided on were smashed.  Sunlight filtered into the store through the jagged hole ripped into the ceiling.  Giles stepped gingerly through the shop's front door, followed closely by Anya.  The pair made their way to the center of their store, surveying the damage.  Nothing was salvageable; everything had either been crushed or burned beyond repair, then damaged further by the Magic Box's sprinkler system as it attempted to extinguish the Willow induced fire.

            "It's gone.  Everything's gone," Anya said to Giles, a distraught expression on her face.  She was dressed in a black lace shirt, a pair of grey pants, and black sandals.  Her long blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail.  She fiddled with the hem of her shirt and said, "She destroyed everything."

            Giles looked around the store once more.  "Well, the actual building seems relatively intact and secure.  E-except for the loft.  And the massive hole in the ceiling."

            Anya walked over to the cash register, lifted it, and examined it in her hands.  "The insurance will cover the repairs to the store, right?  We can still fix it up, and replace the merchandise, and everything will be good as new."

            "Yes, I suppose the insurance will cover the necessary repairs and replacements.  I sent the photos of the damage to the insurance company today.  Hopefully we'll receive an estimate soon." Giles paused.   "It will take a lot of time and a lot of work to fix the shop.  But I'm not certain I want to invest the amount of energy and resources necessary to rebuild the Magic Box."

            "What?"  Anya dropped the register and stared at Giles.  "You don't want the Magic Box anymore?  I thought you had decided to stay in Sunnydale."

            Giles sighed and took off his glasses, wiping them on his denim shirt.  A pair of jeans and brown leather boots completed the outfit.  "For the time being I will be here in Sunnydale.  But it is only temporary.  Eventually I plan to return to England."  He stared at the destruction, remembering the rage Willow possessed as she laid waste to the Scooby Gang, to the Magic Box, and to Sunnydale itself.  "But not until I'm certain everyone here will be safe.  As safe as one can be living on the Hellmouth."

            "You mean, until you're sure everyone is safe from Willow."

            He raised an eyebrow at Anya's bluntness.  "Yes.  I-"

            The door to the Magic Box jingled as Buffy, Dawn, and Xander entered.  The friends stopped and gaped at the state of disrepair.  

            "Whoa," Dawn muttered.  "Major damage."

Buffy took a few steps forward, eyes searching the wreckage, mouth set in a hard line.  She wore a white button up shirt and a pair of black jeans; her short blonde hair was pulled into a half ponytail.  Moving over to Giles, she gave him a brief hug and said, "We came over to see if we could help with the clean up." 

"Thank you."

Xander grabbed his toolbox and headed into the interior of the store.  He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt.  His eyes scanned over the Magic Box, settling briefly on Anya, before he said, "It looks like an earthquake, a tornado, and a hurricane hit at the same time." 

"Yes, Willow certainly was thorough," Anya commented bitterly.

Xander turned towards his ex-fiancée.  "An, she didn't know what she was doing.  She was out of her mind with grief and under the influence of some powerful magic."

"Willow knew exactly what she was doing.  The magic didn't come to her; she went to the books and sucked it up herself."

"She lost control.  She couldn't handle the forces she messed with."

Dawn snorted.  "It looked like she was handling them fine to me."

"Guys," Buffy said sharply.  "Bickering doesn't help fix the shop.  What's done is done.  Arguing over it is pointless."

Anya arched an eyebrow.  "Fine."  She pivoted, retrieved the crushed cash register, and began to sift through the debris for pieces of paperwork. 

Buffy turned to Giles and asked, "Where should we start?"

*                      *                      *

The Magic Box clean up was approaching its fifth hour.  Buffy hefted a large pile of rubble onto her shoulder and headed for the training room; she pushed her way through the door and exited the shop into the rear alley.  She threw the wreckage into the rapidly filling dumpster as her gaze settled on a pile of boxes and crates hidden deep in the shadows of the surrounding buildings.  Buffy closed her eyes briefly, drew in a long breath, and exhaled shakily.  

"Buffy?"

"Hmm…"  Buffy angled her head and watched Giles approach her.  He carried a box of broken bits and pieces; he emptied the box into the dumpster, then faced his Slayer.  

"How are you today?"

One corner of Buffy's mouth quirked up.  "I've been better.  But considering everything that's happened the past few days, I'm good."  She studied her Watcher for a moment, taking in the fading bruises on his face.  "How are you?"

"I'm healing."

Buffy moved over to the boxes and perched on the edge of one.  "Do you think we should have let her go off by herself?  She's not exactly… stable."

"Buffy, Willow needed time to grieve for Tara a-and time to recover from channeling the magics and forces that she used… ah… that she used-"

"To kick our collective ass?"  Buffy supplied.

Giving Buffy a half-exasperated, half-amused glare, he replied, "Yes.  The magic Willow used put an incredible strain on her body.  It-it sucked her energy, her essence, and returned it tainted.  In her fragile state, I doubt she could have handled recovering from the magic, grieving for Tara, and facing you, Xander, Dawn, Anya, and myself simultaneously."

The blonde Slayer remained silent.  Memories of the past three days surfaced in her mind: Spike's expression of horror as he streaked past her, out of the bathroom into the night; Willow standing over her, black eyed and raven haired, in the operating room; Warren, strung up between the trees, limp and skinless; Willow's cold smirk as she fought Buffy; Dawn sword fighting alongside her; Tara's funeral.  "Do you think she's still dangerous?  I mean, do you think Willow's still using the magic?"

Giles smoothed Buffy's hair and squeezed her shoulder.  He knew that she felt tremendously guilty for everything that had occurred in Sunnydale, especially for Willow's descent into the black arts.  She had dealt with so much in the previous year, with her resurrection and Dawn and finances and Slaying, and he had increased the pressure upon her by his early departure from the Hellmouth.  He swore to himself that he wouldn't abandon her so completely ever again. "Even if Willow wanted to, I doubt she's physically or mentally able to do any magic right now.  She's too consumed with grief and guilt."

Buffy smiled bitterly.  "Aren't we all?"

*                      *                      *

The anonymous hotel room was indistinguishable from the million other hotel rooms on the planet with its beige carpeting, beige walls with pastel art, floral drapes, and  floral bedspread.  A small, unopened suitcase lay at the foot of the double bed.  The lights were off, and the drapes were closed, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to creep into the room.  

On the bed, Willow grasped her knees and drew herself into a tight ball.  After checking in to the hotel, she had collapsed onto the bed and remained there for the rest of the day.  She stared blankly at the wall, eyes unfocused and reliving the previous seventy-two hours.  _'Your shirt…'_ _'Two to go…'_  _'It's time you went back to being a little energy ball.'  'You really need to have every square inch of your ass kicked.'  'I'd like to test that theory.'_  _'I love you.'_   _'Your shirt…'  'Your shirt…'_

Willow closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying to block Tara's last words from her mind.  There weren't any sweet and loving goodbyes before she died; just the tinkling of glass, a splatter of blood,  '_Your shirt…'_, and Tara was gone.  Forever.  No more lazy Sunday mornings filled with funny-shaped pancakes; no more dances at the Bronze or stargazing on the rooftops.  There was nothing left.  Nothing but memories.  Inconstant memories that would eventually warp and fade, and then Tara would really be gone forever.  

And Willow would truly be alone.  No Tara, no family, and no friends.

Tears flowed down Willow's face as she cried herself to sleep.  

*                      *                      *

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"It's where the witch said to come."

"But-but there's nothing here."

Spike, Fred, and Gunn stood on the beach bordering the Pacific Ocean.  The surf crashed against the rocks of a nearby cliff, and a soft ocean breeze brushed past the odd trio.  Spike looked down at the note his witch acquaintance had given him detailing Angel's location; according to her directions, the brunette vampire was in the middle of the Pacific.  He sighed and scanned the glistening ocean surface for additional clues pointing to Angel.  He didn't find any.  In his hand, the stone of Kreneuk glowed brightly; it was charmed by the witch with a variation of the locator spell used to find Angel.  The closer it got to missing vampire, the quicker the stone would pulse, blinking faster and faster until it emitted one steady pulse as it came into contact with Angel.

"There doesn't have to be anything here," Spike said to Fred.  "The stone says Angel's in the bloody ocean."

Gunn stared at Spike.  "How are we supposed to get him out of the ocean?  We don't have boats or scuba gear."

"**We're** not supposed to get him out."  Spike crouched down and unlaced one boot; tossing it to the side, he removed the other boot.  He stood, took off his t-shirt, and placed it on top of his boots.  "I am."  He grasped the stone tight in his hand and walked towards the ocean.  Spike looked over his shoulder and said, "Bring the car as close to the ocean as you can and have a couple of blankets ready.  Don't know how long it'll take to find the wanker, but I don't fancy combusting upon surfacing.  If I don't come back after twelve hours or so, go to Sunnyhell and talk to the Slayer.  She'll help you find Angel."

Fred took a few steps forward and said, "Here, Gunn thought you might need this."  She handed Spike a slim black case.  "It's a set of lock picks and a multi-purpose tool.  We thought that Angel might be tied up.  I don't know how you'd use them at the bottom of the ocean, but it's always best to be prepared."

A small smile appeared on Spike's face.  "Thanks."  

"Be careful."

"I will."  The blonde slipped the black case in the back pocket of his jeans, turned back to the crashing waves, and stepped into the cool salt water.  He pushed his way into the tide and was soon submerged.  The cloudless sky allowed the light from the full moon to illuminate the sea.  Small schools of fish and globs of seaweed brushed past the vampire's legs as he descended.  Uncurling his fingers slightly, he moved his arm back and forth; as the stone passed to the left side of Spike, it began to pulse faintly.  He closed his fist and swam off to the left.  

Two hours later, the stone pulsed rapidly, the bright flashes replacing the waning moonlight as underwater guide.  Spike vamped out to better search for his lost grand-Sire.  He wondered what sort of nasty had got the best of Angel and deposited him into the watery prison.  Maybe Dru and Darla had taken their revenge for being set on fire and locked in a room with a bunch of lawyers.  He smirked at the mental image of the two female vampires overpowering the hulking, brooding one; the smirk stretched into a broad grin as Spike visualized Angel's reaction to being rescued by him.  He would probably dust from shock.

Out of the depths of the ocean's shadows, Spike saw the outline of a large box.  He glanced at the stone; it emitted a steady, non-blinking light.  Placing the stone in the pocket of his jeans, he swam closer to the box.  Metal bars covered a square opening; peering inside, Spike saw Angel floating, wrists and ankles bound with heavy chain.  The brunette was emaciated from blood deprivation and unconscious. 

Silently thanking Fred and Gunn for planning ahead, Spike grabbed the case of lock picks from his back pocket.  There were three heavy locks attaching the two sections of the box.  Within minutes, Spike unlocked one of the locks and threw it into the ocean.  Fifteen minutes later, the remaining two restraints were gone, and the blonde was wrenching open the box's lid.  He pulled Angel into the ocean and quickly removed the wrist and ankle chains.  Hoisting the unconscious vampire onto his shoulder, Spike began to retrace his route back to the beach.  

The deep blue of the California night sky was partially displaced by the rose light of day when the two vampires broke the surface of the ocean.  Standing on shaky legs, Spike dumped Angel off of his shoulder and dragged the brunette by the lapels of his shirt to the beach.  Fred and Gunn ran into the ocean and helped pull Angel to the waiting car.  Spike collapsed on the sand, coughing out salt water, muscles screaming from over six hours of swimming.  Depositing Angel in the car, the duo rushed back to Spike and pulled him to his feet.

"Thank you, Spike," Fred said quietly, handing the blonde a blanket.

"Welcome."  Spike crawled into the back seat with Angel as Fred and Gunn piled into the car.  Daylight broke as the four sped away from the ocean, beach, and cliff and headed back to LA and to the Hyperion.

*                      *                      *   


	3. TeteaTete

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Buffy, Spike, etc. are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, WB, Twentieth Century Fox, etc.  They, along with a few others, are borrowed for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Note: A tete-a-tete is a private conversation between two people.  Again, many thanks to my beta SpikeLover7 for her suggestions and encouragement.  Also, feedback is encouraged and appreciated.  And for those who do not watch Angel: the Series or know about what happened in last season's finale, here is a brief explanation: Angel's son Connor, along with Angel's nemesis Holtz, captured Angel, locked him in a box, and dropped him in the ocean.  Wes had a falling out with Angel and left, and Cordelia ascended to some sort of a higher being status.   

Chapter Three: Tête-à-Tête 

By: Wynn

            Day had come and gone once more.  The red haze of sunset filled the quiet hotel room where Willow lay on the bed, watching the fading sunlight. She hadn't moved since her arrival three days ago; basic necessities such as food and water were of no concern to her.  She was consumed by her thoughts of Tara, Xander, Buffy, Giles, and Dawn.  Her grief and her guilt were slowly killing her.

            Willow blinked once as she heard a knock on the door.  She turned and drew the thin cotton blanket around her, ignoring the person or persons on the other side of the door.  She didn't want to move, and she didn't want to talk to anyone.  She just wanted to remember.  

            The knocking continued, soon turning to banging, a steady rhythm interrupting Willow's attempt to drown out the world.  "Go away," she said.  "Please.  I want to be alone."  Her plea for solitude didn't faze the unwanted visitor; if anything, the banging intensified, picking up speed until it seemed to be one continuous bang.  Throwing off the blanket, Willow got out of bed and stalked over to the door.  She turned the knob and yanked, prepared to yell at the persistent intruder.

            The hall was empty.

            Eyebrows drawn in confusion, Willow stepped into the hallway.  There weren't any signs of the mysterious visitor; whomever it had been seemed to have vanished into thin air.  She checked the empty hall once more before backing into her room.  Willow shut the door, locked it, and leaned against the wood grain, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes.  She half-expected the banging to begin again as soon as she re-entered the room, so she remained by the door, waiting to catch the unknown person.  After a few minutes of silence, Willow opened her eyes, turned away from the door, and stopped.

            There was someone in the room.

            Backlit by the dwindling sunset, the last person Willow expected to see was sitting on the bed, hands folded, head tilted, and a warm smile on her face.  She was wearing a white flowing skirt and a gold silk top; her hair was piled high on her head with delicate gold beads decorating the elegant curls.  

            Willow took a few halting steps forward, eyes wide and mouth open in shock.  She stopped again and sank down onto the empty side of the bed.

"Tara?"

"Hey, Willow."                   

*                      *                      *

            The Hyperion was quiet.  After three days of constant hovering, Spike had finally convinced Fred and Gunn that there was nothing they could do to help Angel and that they should get out of the hotel for a while.  The unconscious vampire needed blood and sleep, not nervous friends flocking about him.  The pair had gone to see a movie, leaving Spike alone with his grand-Sire. 

The blonde pushed open the door to Angel's room and walked inside.  He carried two mugs of warm blood and a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips.  Angel lay on his king size bed curled up in the black sheets; an empty mug with dried blood along its edge sat on his bedside table, next to a picture of the cheerleader.  On the opposite side of the bedroom, a lighted lamp shed a muted yellow glow, softly illuminating the brunette vampire's inner sanctum.  Spike placed one of the full mugs on the table, and he pulled a black leather chair next to Angel's bed.  Setting his mug down on the floor, Spike plopped into the chair, grasped the potato chip bag, and slowly pulled it open.  The sound of crinkling foil caused Angel to stir on the bed.  Encouraged by the movement, Spike reached into the bag for a chip and ate it, filling the dark bedroom with the crunching sound of a crushed potato chip.  Angel twisted underneath the sheets.  Spike alternated sipping from the mug of blood and eating potato chips until the brunette opened his eyes.

"Morning, sunshine," Spike said as he set the chip bag beside the chair.

Angel blinked a few times and focused his gaze on the blonde vampire.  "Spike?"

"The one and only.  How are you today?  Well rested I presume.  Should be since you've been Sleeping Beauty the past three days.  I had to force blood down your throat while you were unconscious, and, let me tell you, that's not an experience I want to have again."

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, Spike helped Angel into a sitting position.  He handed the brunette the mug of blood and returned to the leather chair, watching as Angel eyed him warily, clutching the mug in his hands.  "If I wanted you dead, Peaches, I would have staked your ass as soon as I pulled you out of the bloody ocean.  The blood's perfectly fine.  Now, drink it.  You're not fully healed yet."

Bringing the mug to his lips, Angel took a cautious sip before gulping down the rest of the blood.  He wiped a trail of the warm liquid from his chin and set the mug on his nightstand.  Looking at Spike, he said, "What are you doing here?"

"Watching you dribble like a baby apparently."  Sighing, the blonde picked up his mug and downed the rest of its contents.  He twirled the empty cup in his hands as he said, "I came here because I needed to talk to you.  But you had pulled a magical disappearing act, so I called up a witch I knew in LA to do a locator spell on you.  Then your two mates and I, well, really it was just me, hauled your ass out of the Pacific and brought you back to your lovely hotel.  You've been unconscious since I found you."

"You-you pulled me out of the ocean?"

"The prolonged exposure to ocean water must have turned your brain to mush.  Yes, I said I got you out of the metal box you were in and dragged you to the shore."

"Why?  Why would you rescue me?  You hate me."

Spike grinned.  "Yeah, I do.  But like I said, I needed… need to talk to you.  I couldn't do that if you were chained in a box in the middle of the ocean.  Which, by the way, how the hell did you end up chained in a box in the middle of the ocean?"

Angel glanced down at his hands.  "Demon."

Spike arched an eyebrow.  He knew that Angel was lying to him, and he knew that Angel knew that Spike could tell he was lying.  "Must have been some demon."

The brunette focused his gaze on Spike, eyes projecting a deep sorrow and fathomless pain.  The two stared at each other for a moment, searching for answers to unasked questions.  "Why are you here, Spike?"  Angel asked quietly.

Spike broke eye contact and bit his lip.  He ran his fingers through his hair and inhaled deeply.  "I'm here because I need to talk to you.  About me."  He looked at Angel again and finished his reply, "And about Buffy."

*                      *                      *

            Pushing herself up off the mat, Dawn faced her sister again.  It was their first day of training; Buffy had consulted Giles the day before, and they both decided that she should be the one to train Dawn.  Something about more time for sisterly bonding and passing on what she had learned.  Whatever.  The real reason was that Giles had his hands full with a manic Anya who was pushing full steam ahead in the Magic Box rebuilding.  He didn't have time to train Dawn.  Which left Buffy, who was standing with her hands perched on her black sweat pant clad hips and an intense expression on her face, to attempt to teach Dawn the ins and outs of defense and offense.  Not for the first time during the training session, Dawn wished that Spike were here so that he could teach her.  At least he would have made the session marginally enjoyable.

            "Did you notice how I dodged your punch?  If you can't hit me, you can't hurt me.  Dodging blows is always less painful than blocking them.  Plus dodging throws your opponent off balance, allowing you the opportunity to strike." 

            Dawn rolled her eyes and dropped into a fighting stance again.  Her long brown hair was arranged in a French braid, and she wore a t-shirt and a pair of blue cotton workout pants.  

            Buffy folded her arms across her grey tank top and stared at her little sister.  "Dawn, I know this is basic stuff that any idiot can figure out.  Hit equals hurt isn't rocket science.  But it's necessary and it's important.  It could save your life one day."

            "I know.  But you're the one dodging and I'm the one falling flat on my face."

            "And after enough times of falling flat on your face you'll learn to control your momentum so you won't be left open for an attack."  Buffy sighed at the look on her sister's face.  If looks could kill, Dawn wouldn't need combat skills; she could eviscerate her opponent with a narrowing of her brown eyes.  "Why don't we stop for today?  I still have to patrol, and I need to start looking for a new job."

            Walking over to the water cooler, Dawn said, "So you were fired from the Doublemeat.  After you showed up at the Magic Box a half hour after your shift started, I figured they fired you."  She took a long drink of water and wiped her forehead on towel.  "I just didn't want to say anything about it because you looked pissed."

            "Saving the world tends to interfere with flipping burgers.  The world of fast food frowns on no shows.  Especially after a week of no showing."

            "You hated it anyway.  I don't see why you were pissed about being fired from a job you hate."

            Buffy grabbed a cup of water and sat down on the floor of the Magic Box training room.  As Dawn sat beside her, she said, "I wasn't upset about not working for the Doublemeat Palace anymore.  I was upset that **they** fired **me**.  Me.  I should have at least had the opportunity to quit and walk out in a dignified huff.  Instead I was fired from a minimum wage fast food place because I was out trying to save the world.  Again."

            "Speaking of saving the world… any word from Willow?"

            Buffy shook her head.  "It's probably too soon for her.  She needs some time to recover from… everything."

            "Like trying to kill you, me, Giles, Anya, and Xander?  Not to mention destroy the world."

            Setting her cup down on the floor, Buffy faced her sister.  "Dawn, Willow was out of her mind with pain and rage.  She watched Tara die.  It's hard watching your lover die in front of you.  I know.  You feel like you've lost control over everything, over yourself, the world, and you do things that…you wouldn't normally do.  Things that one would feel really guilty about after it's done."   

            "Like Spike?"

            Buffy stood and walked away from Dawn.  "I don't want to talk about Spike."

            "Well, I do."  Dawn followed her, circling around her so she could face Buffy.  "I want to talk about Spike and what happened between the two of you."

            "It's complicated."

            Dawn remained silent for a moment, gritting her teeth.  "I know it's complicated," she said quietly, trying to quell the need to scream.  "Everything is complicated.  That doesn't mean that you can avoid talking.  Everyone did that for the entire year, and look where it got us.  Tara's dead.  Willow's gone.  Spike's gone.  Xander and Anya aren't together anymore."  She unclenched her jaw and grasped her sister's hand.  "You can't keep shutting me out Buffy."

            Buffy pushed a strand of hair behind Dawn's ear.  She smiled sadly at her younger sister.  "I know.  I'm sorry.  It's just that I don't know exactly where to start about me and Spike.  What happened between us wasn't entirely his fault, no matter what Xander told you.  I did things that I'm not proud of, and I don't want you or anyone else to know about them."  She paused.  "But you need to know about them and about what happened.  You deserve the truth."

            Dawn pulled Buffy into a hug.  "Thank you," she whispered.

            "Thank me when we're finished."

*                      *                      *

            "T-Tara?  You're not real.  Why are you here?  How are you here?  I saw you… watched you…  I miss you so much."

            Tara reached out and cupped Willow's face.  The redhead felt a wave of love and warmth and comfort spread through her from Tara's touch.  "I'm here but I'm not here.  I came to help you but I can't stay.  They haven't given me much time before I have to be back."

            "They?  They who?"

            Tara shook her head.  "It's not important.  Not as important as what you're doing to yourself.  Why did you leave Sunnydale?"

            Willow stood and walked to the window.  "How could I have stayed after what I did to them?  They must hate me so much, and I-I couldn't bear to be there and have them hate me."  She felt Tara approach so she turned to face the blonde Wicca.

            "They don't hate you Willow.  They never have.  And they never will."

            Tears formed in Willow's eyes as she stared at her love.  "They should.  I tried to kill them.  How can they not hate me?"

            "Because they love you."

            Willow sank to the floor, sobbing.  She reached for Tara, and the two held each other.  Tara smoothed Willow's hair and pulled out of the embrace; she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lover's lips.  "They love you like I love you.  Forever and always.  That's never going to change, no matter what happens, or what you do.  And that's why you can't stay here forever, reliving everything that's happened.  You have to go back to Sunnydale and face them, and you have to keep living, even if it is hard and painful."

            "But I don't want to keep living.  Not without you."

            "You won't be.  I'll be with you always.  In your heart and in your soul and in your mind.  I love you, Willow, from the first moment I saw you, and I always will."  She stood.  Holding out a hand, she helped Willow up off of the floor and pressed her hand to her lover's cheek.  "It's time."

            "No, baby, no.  I need you here with me.  Don't go.  Please."

            "I have to.  It's time."  With one last kiss, she moved away from Willow towards the hotel room door.  She glanced over her shoulder and said, "They'll forgive you.  It won't be easy, but then nothing ever is.  Especially love."  

            "I love you."

            "I love you."  Tara turned to the door and passed through it, leaving a fading glow of amber light.

            Willow watched the disappearing light as she whispered, "Goodbye, Tara."

*                      *                      *


	4. Dodging Fate and Changing Destiny

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  I don't own Buffy, Spike, Willow, Xander, etc.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. own them.  I came up with the plot.

Author's Note: Circumstances will prevent me from posting this on Tuesday Aug. 20, so I posted it today (Sat.).  Hopefully, I'll get my new computer in time to post Chp 5 on Tues Aug 27.   Thanks to all the people who took the time to read and review my story.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, and I appreciate each and every review.  And more thanks to my beta, SpikeLover7, my fellow CW and SACer.

Chapter Four: Dodging Fate and Changing Destiny

By: Wynn

            "So," Angel drawled, "after this Initiative group shoved a chip in your brain, you decided to stay in Sunnydale and work with Buffy."

            "Not like I had much of a choice," Spike muttered.  "I couldn't feed, couldn't defend myself.  Dru had left me, and I sure as hell couldn't ask you for help.  So I went to Buffy."

            "And you helped fight demons with her-"

            "More or less."

            "-for the past three years.  You even stayed on the Hellmouth to take care of Dawn after Buffy died.  Until, of course, the day you decided to up and leave to come to LA and talk to me.  How sweet."

            Spike rolled his eyes.  He had spent the past hour and a half explaining to Angel the events of the last few years in Sunnyhell.  Needless to say, the brunette vampire was skeptical at the story of a soulless demon who, on many occasions in the past, had attempted to kill the Slayer, but now worked alongside her.  And Spike hadn't even gotten to the really unbelievable portion of his life's story: the part where the evil vampire fell in love with the Vampire Slayer and traveled to Africa to win his soul for her.  "It's not that simple, Peaches.  I didn't just decide to 'up and leave' one day.  There were- are- reasons for this little family reunion." 

            "Such as?"

            Spike pushed himself up off of the plush leather chair and paced the length of Angel's bedroom.  He glanced at his grand-Sire, still resting on the king sized bed, head tilted to one side, watching him stalk back and forth across the room.  "Bloody fuckin' hell, this shouldn't be so hard.  I mean you can't even move, well, at least not very fast, so I shouldn't be nervous.  Even if you wanted to stake me, you couldn't catch me, so I should just spit it out."  He paused and ran both of his hands through his hair.  Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he muttered, "Stupid, sodding soul making me-"

            "What?!"  Angel narrowed his eyes as he said, "What are you talking about, Spike?  You don't have a soul.  You're a vampire."

            "Oh, is there a limit to how many ensouled vampires there can be on the planet?  Did I break the quota of only one tortured, soulful, poofter of a vampire?  Sorry to burst your bloody bubble, but I won my soul back.  I wasn't cursed with it.  I asked for it.  I went to Africa, all the way to some hole in the wall village in Africa with the help of your demon pal Whistler, and I endured the trials and won my soul, my human soul.  So shove the high and mighty routine Angelus.  It doesn't apply to me anymore."  Spike collapsed onto the leather chair and glared at a shocked Angel.  "You know, I had this all planned out in my head how I was going to tell you about Africa and the soul, and you had to just blow it all to hell.  Should've expected it though.  You were always bollixing up my plans.  You-"

            "Spike?"

            "What?"

            "Shut up."

            "Sod off."

            The two vampires with souls sat in silence, scowling at each other.  Abruptly, Spike jumped out of the chair and stalked towards the door.  "Just forget everything, Peaches.  It was a mistake to come here."  He seized the knob and yanked back on the door so hard he nearly pulled it from its hinges.  

            "Spike… William-"

            Spike whirled and faced Angel.  "Don't you dare try to pull this 'William' crap on me."

            "Well, if you would just sit down and shut up for a minute instead of running out of here in a snit, I wouldn't have to 'pull this 'William' crap', as you so eloquently put it."  The pair glowered at each other again, stuck in a stalemate with Angel on one side of the bedroom and Spike on the other, like an old fashioned Western duel.  All they needed was the requisite ball of tumbleweed blowing in the wind.  

Angel closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, calming.  "Look, I've had to deal with the fact that not only have you been living in Sunnydale the past few years, but you've also been working with Buffy instead of trying to kill her.  Not to mention that it was you who rescued me.  And that you are now a vampire with a soul.  I'm sorry if I'm not reacting the way you want me to.  If you'll just calm down and sit down, we can talk about this more."

            "Fine."  With a clenched jaw and folded arms, Spike returned to the leather chair and ignored his grand-Sire.  After a moment he said, "So what do you want to talk about?"

            Angel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Is it too late to be put back in the ocean?"

            Spike laughed.  "Yes."  The blonde smirked at Angel.  "Looks like you're stuck with me."

            Angel studied the younger vampire slumped in the chair.  His clothes were worn and rumpled, and his hair was an uncombed mass of bleached blonde curls.  He looked exhausted.  There were shadows under his eyes, and the lines on his face were more pronounced.  But underneath the physical changes lay something deeper.  The brash cockiness characteristic of Spike had lessened to a subdued confidence.  His blue eyes held sorrow and guilt, and, although Angel knew Spike would never admit it, a smidgen of concern for the healing vampire.  Spike had changed.  Somehow, he had dodged fate and changed his destiny.  The thought of his grand-Childe having the chance to overcome his demon almost made the brunette smile.    

            "As fun as this has been so far, do you think we can get back to the point?"

            "Which is?"

            "Spike," Angel growled.

            "Fine, fine.  Take all the fun out of everything."

            "Are you finished?"

            "Hardly."

            Ignoring the blonde's sarcasm, Angel continued, "Ok, you say that Whistler helped you get to Africa and win back your soul.  What possible reason could you have for wanting the return of your human soul?  You hated William.  You did everything you could to make Spike as different from William as possible.  What force on this earth made want your soul?"

            Spike met Angel's gaze.  "Love," he answered simply.

            "Love?"

            Spike nodded.

            Angel narrowed his eyes in confusion.  "What love?  You're not with Dru anymore… not like she'd want you to have a soul anyway.  Then who…"  Realization swept across his face.  He looked at Spike, but the younger vampire was avoiding his gaze.  "Buffy?"

            Spike nodded again.

            "You-you love Buffy.  Enough to want the return of your soul."  

            "Yes."

            "And this isn't some sort of joke?  You're not just trying to piss me off.  You're actually telling me the truth."

            "Why the hell would I go through all the trouble to rescue you, to swim four hours with your large, undead, poofter self slung over my shoulder, just to tell you a bloody joke that would get me staked within a heartbeat… metaphorically speaking, of course."

            Angel was silent as he stared at Spike.  Moments of silence stretched into minutes as he contemplated the situation of his impulsive grand-Childe falling in love with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  He glanced at the wall and asked, "Does she love you?" 

            The blonde closed his eyes.  Memories flooded his brain. _How long was I gone;  Every night I save you;  I think I was in heaven;  And the only person I can stand to be around is a neutered vampire who cheats at kitten poker;  This isn't real, but I just want to feel;  It's not love.  Not yet;  It's killing me;  I'm sorry… William;  It hurts?  Yeah;  I think it's real… for you;  Didn't take you long;  Because you love me.  No, I don't;  I have feelings for you;  I'll make you feel it;  Ask me again why I could never love you;_  He stood and resumed pacing the dark bedroom.  Shadows played across his face, highlighting the torrent of emotions that was displayed in his steel-blue eyes.  Love, hate, despair, passion, rage, longing, confusion, hopelessness.  He gave a small laugh, a short burst of self-loathing, pain, and sorrow.  "I don't know," he answered truthfully.  "I don't know how she can after what I did to her."

            His voice a tightly controlled ball of fury, Angel asked, "What did you do?"

            "The last thing I swore I would never do.  I hurt her."

*                      *                      *

            The night was quiet and still, as if the Hellmouth was holding its breath waiting for the next Apocalypse to appear.  Buffy had patrolled for an hour, but she hadn't come across one demon, vampire, or other evildoer.  All of them seemed to vanish after a big good vs. evil showdown.  And this time Spike was one of the vanished.

            Her talk with Dawn about the roller coaster romance between her and the chipped vampire had gone as well as to be expected.  Which meant that it hadn't gone well at all.  The conversation went smoothly until it approached the time of Buffy's birthday; Dawn had asked questions about Spike's appearance at the birthday party from hell, and Buffy had answered them truthfully.  She had beat Spike to a pulp in the alley behind the police station and left him lying, beaten and bloodied, as she went to go turn herself in for Katrina's murder.  A twenty minute screaming match had ensued with Buffy trying to explain why she had acted the way she did and with Dawn trying her best not to listen.  Eventually, the tense conversation continued until Buffy came to the break-up.  After learning about the "Doctor" and the demon eggs, Dawn asked if Buffy really believed that Spike would adopt a pseudonym so similar to Doc, the demon who had cut Dawn and indirectly caused Buffy's death.  

            Buffy couldn't think of anything to say.

            Dawn had sat in silence as the rest of the fractured relationship was explained to her.  Once the details of the bathroom incident had been told, Dawn stood, quietly said "Thank you," left the room, and asked Giles to take her home.  Buffy remained in the training room an indiscriminate amount of time lost in thought.  She eventually changed into jeans and a navy tank top and headed into the night to patrol.  

            Buffy sighed as she realized her location.  She had arrived at Spike's crypt.  Her subconscious seemed to be firmly in control of her feet, taking her to places where she consciously did not want to go.  She shoved her stake into the waistband of her jeans, and she examined the crypt door, remembering all of the times she had kicked it in and barged into his home.  She had been so callous, so righteous, ignoring his thoughts and feelings because he was a soulless demon.  It was stupid and dangerous, and she had done it over and over.  Moving to the entrance, Buffy lightly knocked on the door.  Pushing it open, she entered the darkened crypt.  

            "Spike?" she called softly.

            The interior of the crypt was clean.  Candles resided on every available surface; a faded armchair sat in front of the ancient television.  In one corner there was a refrigerator, and a small stack of clothes lay in another.  Moving to the clothes, Buffy picked up a red button up shirt.  It was quintessential Spike.  Bold, vibrant, and brash.  Except that wasn't Spike anymore.  He was broken and hollow, and it was her fault.  She had told him their relationship was killing her, but she had failed to realize that it was killing him too.  Until now.

            A tear slid down her cheek as she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Spike."

            The crypt door banged open, causing Buffy to drop the silk shirt.  Grabbing it off of the floor with left hand, she whirled to face the intruder with her stake gripped firmly in her right.  

            "Whoa, there, Buffy!"  Clem exclaimed.  He carried a paper bag filled with groceries.  "No need for pointy wooden objects.  It's just me."

            "I- I'm sorry."  She replaced the stake and laid the shirt on top of the clothes pile.  "You startled me."

            "I can see that."  He moved into the crypt, easing the door shut behind him.  Placing the grocery bag on the refrigerator, he glanced at the fidgeting Slayer.  "So," he said brightly, "what brings you to my neck of the woods?  Or I should say, my neck of the cemetery."

            Buffy looked at the scarlet shirt illuminated by the moonlight peeking into the darkened interior.  "I… uh… I-"

            "You were looking for Spike?"

            Smiling gratefully, the Slayer replied, "Yeah.  Is… Did he, ah, come back?"

            Clem shook his head.  "No.  He hasn't come back.  I don't know when he will.  It might be a while.  He was in real bad shape before he left."

            "What was he…  Do you think he'll be Ok?"

            The loose skinned demon approached Buffy and sat on one of the stone coffins next to her.  She joined him as he said, "When I saw him last, he was very emotional.  Confused and angry with himself.  I've never seen him like this, not even after you broke up with him."

"He told you about that?"

"Yeah.  He was Ok then.  Sad, yeah, but still relatively stable.  This last time… he was just in so much pain.  He told me that the chip wouldn't let him be a monster and that he couldn't be a man, so, to him, that meant he was nothing."

"What?"  Hazel eyes filling with tears, she gripped the stone sarcophagus and asked, "He said he was nothing?" 

Clem nodded.  "Then he said things were going to change and took off on his motorcycle."   

The stone cracked under her hands.  She blinked the tears away and jumped off the makeshift seat.  "It got out of control so fast," she admitted.  "I didn't know what to do, how to act, and I screwed up.  Everything got screwed up."  She shook her head ruefully.  "He must hate me so much."

"No, Buffy.  He loved you.  He tried his best to love you."

She turned to her demon companion, eyes full of confusion.  "How can you love someone who tells you they hate you?"

"I don't know," he replied.  "I don't have much experience in love.  But I know it isn't rational, and people… and demons don't have control over it.  You love who you love.  Whether they love you or not.  Whether you're supposed to or not."  

Buffy caressed the cool crimson silk as Clem's words sunk into her consciousness.  "This must be a new experience for you.  Listening to the life and love woes of a Vampire Slayer."

He grinned.  "Guess I'm a one of a kind demon."

_'Life is stupid.'  'I have a dim memory of that, yeah.'_

"No…  You're not."

Clem moved next to Buffy and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Not all demons are bad, Buffy.  I mean, yeah, we generally have a predilection to create mayhem and destruction, but some of us choose not to ride the evil trip."  He handed the silk shirt to the Slayer.  "You should take it.  He'll probably want it when he gets back, and there's less of a chance of it being ruined if you keep it."

She smiled sadly.  "Thanks.  I better go.  Dawn's waiting for me."  She slipped the shirt on over her blue tank and headed for the crypt door.

"Tell her hi for me."

"I will."  Buffy stopped at the door.  Her hand rested lightly on the rough wood surface; after a moment, she turned the knob and exited the crypt.  

*                      *                      *

            Angel sprang from the bed, grabbed Spike by the throat, and pinned him against the wall.  Digging his fingers into the blonde's neck, he said roughly, "You have exactly two seconds to tell me what you did to her before I rip your head from your body."

            Spike punched the brunette, succeeding in loosening the grip of death the elder vampire had on his throat.  A hard kick to the midsection sent Angel flying across the room and crashing against the far wall.  Massaging his throat, Spike returned to the leather chair.  "I didn't come here for a round of kick-the-Spike.  I'm bloody well through with being everyone's punching bag, so don't try for a repeat performance, ok, Peaches.  You're not physically up to it, no matter what your massive, hair gel poisoned ego is telling you, and I don't really want to have to kick your ass right now.  So if you'll just sit down and calm down, we can resume this pleasant conversation."

            He waited until Angel had crawled back into his bed before he spoke.  "The night I left Sunnyhell I went to her house to apologize for something stupid I had done.  I planned on the apology being short and to the point, but my plans never go right.  Ever."  He closed his eyes and remembered.  "She told me she had feelings for me, but that they weren't love.  She couldn't trust a soulless demon enough to love him.  I guess she was right."  Tears slid from the corners of his closed eyes; his fists gripped the arms of the chair.  His entire body was tense.  "I just wanted her to stop being in control of everything and let herself love… let her be happy.  But I snapped.  Lost control."  _I'll make you feel it._  "I tried… I almost…"  He pressed his fisted hands against his closed eyes.  "I…"

            "You forced yourself on her."

            "Almost.  I was mad, absolutely out of it.  I was just tired of seeing her unhappy, so disconnected from everyone and everything."  He opened his eyes, shining with tears and bloodshot.  "She kicked me off her.  And as soon as she did that I knew that I had royally fucked up.  Crossed a line I had set.  I swore I would never hurt her but I did."  He met Angel's gaze.  "That's why I want my soul.  I never want to lose control like that again.  Never want to hurt her like that again.  I'd rather die first."

            "A soul isn't a magical absolute control over the demon, Spike.  Having one doesn't mean you'll never do anything bad ever again."

            "I know.  But it's a start."

            Silence permeated the darkened bedroom.  Angel regarded his grand-Childe; Spike returned his stare.  Quietly, Angel said, "Why are you here Spike?"

            "I thought I could stay here for a while, learn the finer points of being a vampire with a soul, help you and the bird and her extremely overprotective friend.  I can't return to the Hellmouth.  Not until I… not until I know I'll never hurt her like I did.  I need time to adjust to the new soul and demon combo.  I just need time.  And I don't have anywhere else to go."

            Angel thought about everything Spike had said.  He felt the need to stake him for hurting Buffy, but Angel knew what it was like to do something in the throes of passion, of despair, of hopelessness that you would never do in a sane frame of mind.  Spike had the chance to make amends for his past wrongs, and Angel wasn't going to stand in his way.  "You can stay."

*                      *                      *

            The steel doors creaked open, letting sunlight into the narrow entryway.  She stepped from the cool darkness of the building into the warm summer day.  With one last glance behind her, she stepped onto the sidewalk and looked out into the world, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of civilization.  A small smile appeared on her face.  Pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she glanced at the pieces of paper clutched in her hand.  One was a bus ticket.  To Sunnydale, California.  The other was an address to a shop called The Magic Box. 

            Taking a deep breath, Faith stared at the ticket, her only possession besides the clothes on her back.  Placing the ticket in her back pocket, she turned and walked away from the prison that had been her home for the past two years into the free world.     

*                      *                      *


	5. Unexpected Arrivals

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Spike, etc.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century Fox, etc. own them.  I'm just borrowing them to tell my perverse little tale.

AN: Once again, thanks to everyone who took the time to read my story and thanks to my beta, SpikeLover7.

Chapter Five: Unexpected Arrivals

By: Wynn

            Approaching the door to the Magic Box, she hesitated.  She took a deep breath and another step forward before stopping again.  Moving to the window, she cautiously peered inside.  Drop cloths were spread throughout the shop and scaffolding sat underneath a large hole in the roof.  She could see Giles on the scaffolding talking to Xander, Buffy and Dawn painting a wall in the back of the shop, and Anya applying putty to a wall near the entrance.  She turned from the window and closed her eyes.  She couldn't face everyone.  Not yet.  Not after everything she had done to them.  Opening her eyes and clenching her fists, she stared out into the busy Main Street of Sunnydale.  Everyone was so complacent in their ignorance of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the world.  Shadows she herself had reveled in.  Sighing softly, she turned and peered inside the Magic Box again.

*                      *                      *

            "It shouldn't be too hard to fix.  None of the studs were damaged, so you won't have to try to replace those.  That would've been expensive.  All you'll need is some plaster, insulation, a few shingles, and you'll be back in business."  Xander rubbed the back of his neck.  He examined the jagged tear in the ceiling and continued,  "I'll talk to a guy I know through work.  He owes me a favor, so he should be able to fix this in a day or two."

            Giles nodded.  "Thank you, Xander."

            Xander shrugged.  "No problem.  It's the least I could do.  I know how much the shop means to you."  He looked past the Watcher to his ex-fiancée.  "And to Anya."  Refocusing on Giles, he asked, "Is there anything else?  Are you going to rebuild the loft?"

            "I'm not certain.  Rebuilding the shop was not my idea.  It was Anya who wanted to keep the Magic Box despite the work necessary to repair it."  He removed his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his white t-shirt.  His gaze traveled from polishing his glasses to his young companion's face.  "You'll… ah… have to talk to her about the plans for the shop."  Replacing his glasses, Giles moved to the edge of the scaffolding.  "I should see if Buffy and Dawn need help painting."  He descended the ladder without waiting for Xander to reply.

            For a moment, the brunette stared at the hole in the ceiling.  Willow had left Sunnydale a week and a half ago; she still had not contacted him or Buffy.  'Probably for the best.  Everyone's still on edge.'  Moving to the edge of the scaffolding, Xander looked at his ex-fiancée.  They had barely spoken to each other since the end of Willow's revenge trip against the leftover Nerds; what they did say to each other was muffled mumblings about the shop's repairs.  Xander ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed his navy t-shirt, and climbed down the ladder.  Walking over to Anya, he said, "Hey."

            The blonde vengeance demon tensed.  Placing the jar of putty on the floor, she wiped her hands on her jeans and faced Xander.  She smiled tightly.  "Hey."

            Swallowing, Xander said, "Ah… the roof should be repaired in a few days.  I asked Giles about rebuilding the loft, but he didn't know."  He paused.  "He said I should talk to you about it."

            "He did?"

            "Yeah."

            The two stood in silence, looking anywhere in the shop but at each other.  Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw a shadow flit past the Magic Box's window.  Dismissing the apparition, he glanced at Anya and said, "Um… about the loft?"

            "Oh," Anya inspected the blank back wall where the Magic Box's loft used to reside.  After a moment's contemplation, she said, "Yes, I want to replace-"

            "Do you want to have coffee sometime?"

            "What?" 

            Xander fidgeted under the blonde's steady gaze.  His gaze flickered from her to the floor.  "I asked if you wanted to have coffee sometime.  With me.  I thought that we could… talk."  Lifting his head, Xander sought his ex-fiancée's golden-flecked brown eyes.  "If you want to, that is.  I mean… I think we have a lot we need to talk about, or I have a lot I need to explain, and I would like to.  Explain."

            Anya's face softened.  "That wouldn't be horrible," she said.  "I like coffee."

            Xander smiled.  "Great."  The door to the Magic Box jingled.  "How about to..." He trailed off as he recognized the figure hovering by the open door.  Turning, he locked eyes with Buffy.  The blonde Slayer edged in front of Dawn, set her paintbrush on the floor, and looked at the woman by the door. 

The woman's hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she wore a pair of rumpled black pants and a tank top; her nails were bitten to the quick.  She smiled nervously at the silent Scooby Gang and set her battered brown suitcase on the floor.

            "Hey, guys," Willow said.

*                      *                      *

              The two vampires trudged through the dank sewer water.  Each carried a large battle-ax coated in green demon slime, which was the same substance that covered the pair from head to toe.  Spike wiped a glob of the green goo off the tip of his nose; a disgusted look crossed his face.  The group of Florvak demons he and Angel had pursued for information had put up one hell of a fight, but ultimately, they were not a match for the vampires.  Which was unfortunate for Spike and Angel because Florvak demons had green sludge for blood that tended to stick to every surface it came across.

            "I have to say that that was probably the most disgusting situation I have ever been in," Spike told Angel as he attempted to fling the goo that stuck to his hand.  "And I've been in some weird situations before."

            Angel smirked.  "You're just mad because your formerly blonde hair is now lime green."    

            Spike inspected Angel's hair.  "You brown poof isn't looking too good either, Peaches."  He sighed as he realized the slime was not flinging itself off of his fingers.  "At least tell me you got the info you needed."

            "Yeah," Angel muttered.  "I got the information.  I don't know how much good it'll do, but I got it."  The Florvak demons were the last known entities to have seen Connor and Holtz.  The brunette was silent as he inspected the blade of his battle-ax.  Scraping dried demon blood off the edge of the blade, he continued, "Hopefully the lead Fred and Gunn are tracking down will pan out too."

            Spike regarded the older vampire.  Angel had told him about Connor a week ago; the tale of the liaison between the brunette and the resurrected-human-turned-vampire Darla was almost as unbelievable as his own relationship with Buffy.  Spike knew that Connor's betrayal was consuming Angel's thoughts, as was the absence of Cordelia, the ex-cheerleader turned seer turned half-demon whom Angel had fallen in love with.    Shaking his head, Spike snorted.

            Angel looked at him.  "What?"

            "Nothing."  Spike paused as the duo ascended the ladder that led to the basement of the Hyperion.  "I was just thinking of how complicated everything's become.  Used to be so simple.  Feed, fuck, sleep.  Now it's falling in love with your mortal enemy, two vampires having a kid…"

            "Welcome to the real world."  They exited the basement and were assaulted by the raucous sound of rock music blaring from the hotel.  "What the hell is that?"

            "Nirvana," Spike said as the pair moved closer to the Hyperion's lobby.  Spike followed Angel as they crept past the empty office and lobby desk into the hotel's sitting room.  A stereo and a set of large speakers sat in the middle of an arrangement of chairs.  Sprawled across one of the plush chairs, feet tapping with the beat of the music and broad smile on her face, was a young brunette dressed in black.  A stake was clasped in her right hand.

            "Hey, Angel.  Miss me?"

            One corner of Angel's mouth quirked up as he said, "Faith." 

*                      *                      *

            Tension spread throughout the Magic Box.  Willow glanced at Xander, then Buffy; she shuffled next to her suitcase.  Tara had been right.  This wasn't going to be easy.  How do you tell your best friends you're sorry for jumping on the black magic train, physically and mentally torturing them, and attempting to destroy the world?  Hallmark didn't make a card for this.  Taking a deep breath, she faced her friends… her family.    

Buffy moved into the center of the shop, hazel eyes fixed on her best friend and most recent enemy.  Willow returned her steady gaze, her fidgeting hands betraying her nervousness.  "Willow."

            The redhead gave a slight wave.  "Hey, Buffy… Xander."

            Xander walked over to his best friend and gathered her into a hug.  "I'm glad you came back," he said.  He smoothed her hair with his hand.  "We were worried about you."

            "Yeah… Me, too."  She broke the hug and squeezed Xander's hand.  Turning toward the blonde Slayer, Willow slowly approached her friend, stopping when she saw Buffy tense.  Taking a deep breath, Willow said, "I'm sorry.  I- I know that's not enough.  And that it never will be.  But it's true."  Her faded green eyes glistened with tears.  She looked at her best friend and said,  "I'm so sorry."

            "I know."  Buffy closed the distance between herself and Willow.  She reached out and embraced the redhead, holding her tight.  Pulling back, she peered at her friend; Willow's face was gaunt and dark circles rimmed her closed eyes.  Buffy smoothed a lock of hair behind Willow's ear and said, "I know."

            "Hello, Willow."  

            Brushing a few stray tears off her cheek, Willow faced Giles.  He stood a few paces behind the pair and studied the redhead.    Moving forward, she stopped in front of her one time mentor and friend.  "Giles…  I'm sorry about the shop."  Her eyes drifted to his face and then down to her hands.  "And for everything else."

            A sad smile crossed the Watcher's face.  He laid a hand on her shoulder and said,  "I'm just glad that you are alright.  We can replace the shop.  We can't replace you."

            A wan smile crossed her face.  "Not so sure about that…"  She looked towards the rear of the store where Anya, during the course of the apologies, had crossed the store and stood next to a frozen Dawn.  "Hey Dawnie."

            Flinching, Dawn took a few steps back.  She gazed at Willow with cold, hurt eyes.  "Don't call me Dawnie."

            Buffy moved towards her sister.  "Dawn…"

            Dawn glared at Buffy.  "What?  Am I supposed to act like everything's Ok because she said she was sorry?  Everything is **not** Ok.  She wanted to kill me, Buffy.  She didn't just try to… she **wanted** me dead.  She wanted you dead and Giles and Anya.  And I'm just supposed to forgive her for trying to kill my family because of one 'I'm sorry?'"

            "Dawn…"

            Willow interrupted her friend.  "No, Buffy.  Dawn's right."  She looked at her surrogate little sister and said, "I don't know what else to say, Dawn, except I'm sorry.  I don't want you dead.  Not now and not ever."

            Xander approached the center of the store and stood opposite Buffy, on the other side of Willow.  "Dawn, she didn't know what she was doing.  She-"

            Dawn rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.  "Whatever, Xander.  Willow knew exactly what she was doing."

            The fractured Scooby Gang was silent in their tense circle inside the Magic Box.  The air felt heavy with pain and sorrow and guilt accumulated during the past few weeks, the past few years.  The fights and the lies and the betrayals and the hurt they had caused to each other seemed insurmountable.  They were fragile, hollow, shadows of the selves they had been six years ago.  All had hit rock bottom and they were desperately trying to claw back from destruction and despair.

Willow cleared her throat.  "Maybe I should just go."  She turned from the group and headed to the shop's entrance.

            "No."  Xander grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.  "You're not leaving again.  We'll get through this.  All of us."

            The lifelong friends stared at each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.  Silent communication passed between them and, nodding softly, Willow said, "I- I'm tired.  It's been a… rough week."

            Buffy pulled her keys out of her pants pocket.  "Ok, we'll take you home.  Are you coming Dawn?"  

            "No."

            The blonde Slayer grabbed Willow's suitcase and headed for the door.  "I'll see you later then."

            "No, you won't."  As her sister turned, Dawn stood resolute.  "I don't want to stay there if she's there."

            Gritting her teeth, Buffy set the suitcase back on the floor.  "Dawn…"

            "**No**. " 

            Xander interrupted the sister standoff.  "She can stay with me."  To Willow, he said, "You can sleep on the sofa, if you want."  

            A brief smile crossed Willow's face.  "Thanks, Xander." 

            "No problem."  He locked eyes with Anya.  She stared at him in shock.  Glancing between her ex-fiancée and his best friend, she shook her head, turned, and left the Magic Box, the door to the training room slamming behind her.

            Xander took a few steps towards the door to the training room.  "Anya.  Anya!"

            Giles stepped in front of Xander, blocking his path.  "You need to attend to Willow.  Make sure she eats something and gets some rest.  I'll make sure Anya is alright."

            "But-"

            "Xander.  Willow needs you."

            He stared at the closed door to the training room and slowly nodded.  Turning, he walked with Willow to the shop's entrance, lifted her suitcase, and left the shop.

*                      *                      *


	6. Sinister Beginnings

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of BtVS.  Never have and never will.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc. own them.  I'm just borrowing them to tell my story.

Author's Note: Ok, I should have done my research better.  I didn't watch Angel last season, so I didn't know what went on except for the basics… Angel and Darla had a kid, Connor, who was taken to another dimension by Angel's nemesis, Holtz, and that Angel ended up in the bottom of the ocean at the end of the season.  However I got the reason why he was at the bottom of the ocean wrong.  Instead of the search for Holtz and Connor, it should have been Justine and Connor.  I apologize for the mistake… but let's just go with it.  This is a BtVS fic, not an Angel fic.  

            Anyhoo, feedback is wonderful.  If you love the chapter, leave some feedback.  If you hate the chapter, leave some feedback!  Thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta.

Chapter Six: Sinister Beginnings

By: Wynn

            Faith sprang from the plush chair.  A hard kick sent the chair crashing into Angel, knocking him into the stereo and onto the floor.  Pouncing like a sleek, black panther, Faith tackled Spike.  The pair rolled end over end until she gained the upper hand and pinned the blonde to the floor.  She straddled his chest.  One of his arms was pinned between her thighs while the other was held roughly in Faith's left hand.  Her right hand held her stake, which was pressed over Spike's green goo covered heart.

            Flipping a strand of hair out of her eyes, Faith fixed her dark gaze on Angel.  "Why're you hanging with Blondie, Angel?  Or should I say Angelus?  Did you lose your soul while I was locked up, or did you decide to go evil once and for all?"

            Angel struggled to sit up.  Knocking the chair and speakers off of him, he pulled himself into a sitting position and glared at the brunette Slayer.  "Faith, I haven't lost my soul.  And I haven't done anything evil in a long time.  Neither has Spike.  He has a government chip in his head-"

            "I know about the chip."

            "Then you know he can't hurt anyone."

            Faith sighed.  "Come on, Angel.  A chip wouldn't stop someone from being bad if they really wanted to be."  She pressed the stake harder into Spike's chest.  "Why is he here?"

            "Why don't you ask me yourself, you daft cow," Spike growled.  "I do possess the ability to speak."

            "I don't care one way or another, Blondie.  Is this some plan of yours to try to kill Angel?  I won't let you."

            Spike sighed.  "That's touching.  Really.  I don't want the Poofter dead.  You, on the other hand-"

            "Spike," Angel said as he glared at the pinned vampire.  "Faith, would you look at us?  Both of us are covered in Florvak blood.  We **both** came back from fighting demons.  He's not here to kill me, and I'm not evil, so you can let him up now."

            She stared at Angel as she contemplated his words and the vampires' appearances.  Both were covered in dried green demon blood; two battle-axes lay on the floor.  Slowly, she removed the stake from Spike's chest and stepped off of the prone vampire.  Holding down a hand, she helped him off the floor.

            Spike stepped close to Faith.  Leaning down, he whispered, "Just a word of warning.  If you're here to try to kill Angel or myself, **I** won't let **you**.  I may have a chip in my head, but like you said it won't stop me from hurting someone if I really want to."

            Faith arched an eyebrow.  "Wouldn't have it any other way."

            Pulling the fallen chair upright, Angel slunk down into it, hands rubbing his temples.  Wearily, he looked at Faith.  "How did you get here?  Did you break out of prison?"

            "No.  I was released early.  For good behavior."

            Spike snorted.

            "Yeah, it came as a shock to me too.  Figured I would be in prison for the rest of my natural life.  But they let me go about a week ago, on the condition that I return to Sunnydale to serve the remainder of my sentence out doing community service."

            Angel's eyes narrowed at her admission.  "Community service in Sunnydale?"

            Faith shrugged.  "Government speak for returning to the Hellmouth and becoming an active Slayer again with Giles as my Watcher."

            Spike moved next to Angel and pulled the stereo and speakers upright.  Clicking the eject button on the CD player, he examined the Nirvana disc appreciatively.  "Hate to break it to you, ducks, but Rupert isn't in Sunnyhell anymore.  He moved to England last November.  Hasn't been back since."

            Confusion spread across the brunette's face.  "They told me that he was back in Sunnydale."

            "Well, they told you wrong."

            "Maybe not," Angel said.  "You left a month ago.  It's possible Giles could have returned during that time."  He glanced at Faith.  "So if you're supposed to be in Sunnydale, why are you here?"

            She fidgeted as her gaze bounced between Angel and Spike.  Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she said, "The last trip I made to the Hellmouth didn't turn out so hot.  I screwed B over.  Stole her body, slept with her boyfriend… she's probably still pissed."

            "What?" Spike asked as he looked at Faith.  "You stole her body?  When was this?"

            Faith glanced at the blonde warily.  "About two years ago… nobody told you about the body switch?"  As Spike shook his head, she continued, "Do you remember that night in the Bronze?  B came up to you, all glammed out, and taunted you, teased you, and left you high and dry.  'I could have anything… anyone… even you Spike.'  Under the stairs in the Bronze.  Remember?"

            "That was you.  In Buffy's body."

            Faith nodded.  "Yeah… I slept with B's man, too.  I doubt he wants to see me again."

            Spike cocked an eyebrow.  "Riley?  I'm happy to say Captain Cardboard left Sunnyhell, so I don't think Buffy'll be mad at you for sleeping with the idiot."  Turning to Angel, he said, "He left before her mum died.  Went to some vamp whores, got a suck job while he was still with Buffy."  He snorted.  "He staked me good and proper for telling her about his indiscretions… it was a plastic stake, though."

            Angel rolled his eyes.  "I never did like him."

            "Feeling's mutual."

            "Still," Faith said, "between that and everything that went down during Graduation, we're not exactly on the best of terms.  I- I don't know what to say to her, to convince her that I'm not the way I used to be.  That I want to do the right thing."  She looked at Angel.  "I thought maybe you would help me.  I don't want to fuck everything up again."

            Angel and Spike looked at each other.  The blonde shrugged.  Turning to Faith, Angel said, "So you want to stay here a while?"

            "Yeah… if you're not too pissed about being knocked over with a chair."

            Angel sighed.  "If you and Spike can refrain from killing each other, you can stay."  He moaned and closed his eyes.  "What have I done?  Invited you two to live in my hotel… I must be crazy."

            Spike smirked.  "Like I said, the prolonged exposure to ocean water turned your brain to mush.  Now you make stupid decisions like taking in me and the bird."

            Arching an eyebrow, Faith asked, "Ocean water?"

            "He'll fill you in," Angel told Faith as he stood and shuffled past her.  "Need to take an aspirin… maybe a shot of tequila… definitely a few weeks worth of sleep…  Leave the weapons cabinet alone and don't kill each other or I will be forced to kill the both of you…"  He trailed off as he drifted out of the sitting room, past the lobby, and up the main staircase, leaving his two wayward houseguests alone in the silent hotel.

*                      *                      *

Giles opened the back door of the Magic Box and peered into the training room.  He saw Anya sitting on the couch, arms folded, mouth set in a grim line.  A few tracks of tears lined her face.  Easing the door shut behind him, he walked to the couch and sat beside her.  "Are you alright?" he asked.

            "No.  I don't understand why I still feel this way.  And I don't understand how he can still hurt me.  And I don't understand how he can't forgive me when he's already forgiven perfect Willow."  She turned to Giles and whispered, "I didn't do anything wrong, so why do I feel so bad?"    

            Laying a hand on her head, Giles said, "I don't profess to know what happened between you and Xander-"

            "He left me at the altar, I became a vengeance demon again, and I slept with Spike."

            "-But I feel that he is more embarrassed now than angry."  He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Anya.  "He seems to have acted rashly and doesn't know how to set things right."

            Anya wiped a few stray tears off her face.  "He asked me out for coffee so we could 'talk.'"  Her eyes clouded over with pain and anger.  "But then Willow came back and he went to her and invited her to stay at **our** house.  She went psycho and tried to kill everyone, but since she's Willow, everything's Ok now that she said she's sorry."

            "Willow and Xander have been best friends since childhood, so it is only natural that he is quick to forgive her.  Bonds like that are not easily broken."

            Returning Giles' handkerchief, Anya shook her head and sighed.  "I guess you have to be in the inner circle of you, Buffy, Willow, and Xander to get unconditional forgiveness.  Or even the slightest acceptance."

            "That is not true."

            Anya stood and paced the length of the training room.  "Isn't it?  Buffy tried to kill them, but everything's Ok because she was drugged.  Willow tried to kill us, but everything's Ok because she was grieving.  Xander dumps me two minutes before we're supposed to get married and leaves without a word, but it's Ok because he's Xander."  She stopped and locked eyes with Giles.  "But I sleep with Spike and I'm wrong.  I become a vengeance demon again, and without even doing any vengeance, I'm on the outside.  And Spike was never accepted, not even after he got thrown off a hundred foot tower trying to protect Dawn."  She closed her eyes for a moment.  Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Maybe you're right Giles.  Maybe you don't have to be in the inner circle to be forgiven.  You just have to be human.  Apparently, demons don't deserve forgiveness."

            "Anya-"

            She held up her hand.  "Thank you for listening, Giles, but I want to be alone right now.  I'll be back tomorrow to finish the front wall."  Before Giles could attempt to convince her to stay, Anya teleported, disappearing without a sound.   

*                      *                      *

            The windowless hall was long and narrow with a dark hardwood floor covered by luxurious hand woven rugs and oil painting lined walls.  The hall ended with a large stone fireplace.  A gold chandelier hung over an oval oak table surrounded by six leather chairs.      Four men and two women sat in the six chairs.  All were dresses elegantly, in cashmere or linen suits and silk shirts.  Each carried a heavy leather briefcase.

            One of the men lifted his briefcase and removed a manila envelope.  Setting the briefcase on the floor, he opened the envelope.  A thick file slid onto the table.

            "I trust all of us are ready to proceed," he said as he flipped through the contents of the file.  He pulled five pictures and placed them in the center of the table.  The first was of Faith, the second Spike, and the third of Buffy and Dawn.  The fourth and fifth pictures were of Xander, Willow, Anya, and Giles.  The man continued, "We must act quickly if we are to gain control of the Hellmouth.  The Slayer and the rest need to be eliminated."  Turning to the woman on his left, he asked, "Is everything in order?"

            Pointing to the picture of Faith, she said, "We are still waiting for the second Slayer to arrive in Sunnydale.  She has taken… a detour.  She is in Los Angeles at the Hyperion Hotel owned by Angelus."

            A second man cleared his throat.  "Isn't that where William the Bloody is staying?"

            The first man nodded.  "Yes.  It is unfortunate that these two have now met.  However, it should not alter our plans much.  A… friendship or an alliance between the two may even be an asset to us."

            "But what if the vampire kills her?"

            The first man raised an eyebrow.  "I see you have not studied your file closely.  William the Bloody is chipped.  He cannot harm any human, save for the Slayer Buffy Summers."  He rubbed a hand over his chin.  "And if Faith should eliminate Spike… it would be to our advantage.  Then we would not have to contend with the… relationship of sorts he has with the Slayer."  The man returned the five pictures to the file and replaced the manila envelope in his briefcase.  A small smile appeared on his face.  "You know your assignments.  We will meet again in a week.  Within a month the Hellmouth will be ours."

*                      *                      *


	7. Night Visions

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of BtVS.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, etc. own pretty much everything.  So sad for me.  Quotes used from _Fool for Love, __School Hard, and __Dead Things.  Quotes taken from Psyche's Transcripts._

AN:  Reviews are wonderful, and I am thankful for each and every one that I receive.  So if you like, review.  If you don't like, review.  

Chapter Seven: Night Visions

By: Wynn

            Maps, files, pictures, scraps of paper, plates of food, cups of coffee, and mugs of blood lay scattered on the lobby desk of the Hyperion.  Five chairs surrounding the desk supported the five humans and nonhumans poring over the mounds of gathered information: Angel, Fred, and Gunn, the remaining members of Angel Investigations, as well as Spike and Faith, former enemies taken in by Angel because of his belief in their redemption.  The band of unlikely allies had spent the entire day analyzing the leads, notes, and hunches collected over the past few weeks in the search for Connor.  Nothing had panned out.  All leads led to dead ends or to information they had already gathered.  Desperation was increasing as time passed.  

            Gunn dropped a stack of papers on the desk and rubbed his eyes.  "Maybe we should talk to Lilah again.  Sources at the club said she was talking to Wes.  He might've told her something about Connor, or she's figured something out on her own."  From under his hands, he peered at Angel.  "She's hiding something.  Just don't know if that something is Connor."

            "If Lilah does know something," Faith said as she stood, "she's not going to blab it to you.  Especially if you not knowing suits whatever scheme she has going."  She raised her arms above her head and stretched. 

            Angel glanced at Faith, then at Gunn.  "Still, it could be good to put some pressure on her.  Let her know we're not kidding around."  He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Gunn, could you and Fred talk to her again?  If she did have anything to do with Connor and Holtz, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to let her know I'm ocean free."

            Gunn nodded.  He went to the weapons cabinet and pulled out an ax.  Brandishing the steel weapon, he looked at the others and said, "Just in case."

            Fred grabbed her bag and followed Gunn out of the hotel.  "Just in case what?"  She decides to hit you with her four inch heel?"

            Silence descended on the hotel.  Angel sat in his chair with his head down in his hands; he shook his head slowly and stood.  Pacing the room, he said, "We aren't getting any closer to finding him.  He might not even be in this dimension anymore."

            Faith plopped back into her chair and put her feet up on the desk.  She locked her arms behind her head and said, "You'll find him.  Even if you have to kick ass across dimensions." 

            Angel slouched into the plush sofa.  He stared at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of Cordelia and Connor and even Wes.  His ex-friend and partner, his estranged son, and his… love.  Not love.  His potential love who had ascended to somewhere in the middle of the LA freeway.  There hadn't been any time for love before the bottom dropped and all hell broke loose.  All three were gone, and he didn't know how to get them back.  

            He glanced at Spike and Faith, who sat across from each other bickering over the last spicy buffalo wing.  His two former enemies had formed a truce of sorts after their stake-filled first meeting: Faith wouldn't kill Spike, and Spike wouldn't kill Faith.  After the truce, they had focused all their energies into helping Angel search for Connor while building the courage to return to Sunnydale and right their respective wrongs.  He wondered how much longer the pair would stay in L.A.  He didn't think his sanity could handle much more.

            The elder vampire sighed as the bickering escalated into the makings of a full fledged brawl.  Running a hand over his eyes, he stood and said, "Why don't you two…"  He froze at the sudden appearance of a woman near the front door.  She wore a pair of pinstripe black pants and a silk burgundy top; her blonde hair framed her face in wild ringlets.  She spotted Angel and waved.  

            "Hi, Angel."

            "Anya?"

            Nodding, she walked over to Spike and Faith and snatched the buffalo wing from between their hands.  Dropping it into the nearby garbage can, she smiled brightly and sat in one of the chairs surrounding the lobby desk.  She waved to Faith and Spike as she said, "Hello."

            Spike glanced from his hand, to the garbage can, and then to Anya.  Eyes narrowing, he growled, "What in the bloody hell possessed you to do that?  That was a perfectly good buffalo wing."

            The blonde vengeance demon shook her head and replied, "No, it wasn't.  It was all smooshed and gooey from you and Faith fighting over it.  Would you have wanted to have eaten a smooshed and gooey piece of dead animal flesh?"

            "Yes."

            "Well, it's in the trash can if you're hungry."

            Spike looked at Anya aghast.  "I'm not going to eat it after it's been in the trash."

            "But you would have eaten it after it had been crushed?"

            "Yes."

            Faith and Angel stood off to the side and watched the two blondes.  After a few seconds, Faith stalked over to the desk and waved her hand between the pair.  "Hey!  The wing is dead.  Get over it."

            Anya inspected the brunette Slayer.  Not noticing any weapons in Faith's hands, she said, "When did you break out of prison?"

            Faith glanced at Spike and Angel before answering slowly, "I was released.  A few weeks ago.  Why?  Are you going to run off and tell B that I'm out?"

            Anya arched an eyebrow.  "B?"

            "Buffy."

            Anya laughed.  "No.  And even if I did, she wouldn't believe me.  Are you going to return to Sunnydale?"

            Sitting across from Anya, Faith said, "Eventually.  Why?  Is there some big nasty terrorizing the Hellmouth? "  

            "Not anymore."  

            Spike stood and peeked into the garbage can.  "Did someone finally put an end to the Loser brigade then?"

            Anya was quiet as she watched Spike poke around in the garbage can.  After a minute of silence, he looked at her.  Off the solemn expression on her face, he dropped the metal can and faced her.  "What happened?"

            Tears pooled in her golden brown eyes.  She tugged on the edge of her shirt and told the trio about the chaotic seventy-two hours in Sunnydale in which Tara died, Giles returned, and Willow killed Warren, then hunted the other two Nerds, fought Buffy and Giles, terrorized Dawn, destroyed the Magic Box, and tried to end the world.  She finished with a summary of Willow's tension filled return.      

            Silence rang through the hotel.  Spike stared at Anya, attempting to process her news from the Hellmouth.  Whistler had told him big things were happening in Sunnydale and that he might be needed.  But he had thought that the "big thing" was the downfall of the Nerds, not the fight to save the world from a trusted ally and friend.  

            Sitting in his chair, Spike said to Anya, "Is… uh…everyone Ok- um, Dawn, is she Ok?"

            "Everyone is physically fine.  Well, Giles got hurt but he's healed.  And… uh, Dawn is fine, too."

            Spike nodded and ran his fingers through his hair.  The four sat silent in the hotel.

            Anya cleared her throat.  She faced Spike and said, "I wanted to get out of Sunnydale, after everything, Willow coming back and Xander, and you had disappeared after… well, after what happened.  And I was worried about you, so I decided to find you.  And I found you.  I also wanted to avoid Xander, too, but that was just an added bonus to leaving Sunnydale."

            Faith leaned forward.  A sly smile appeared on her face.  "Sounds like a story there.  A story that requires a few drinks first."  She jumped off the chair and headed for the kitchen.  Glancing over her shoulder, she said to Anya, "You could have had some tequila, but Angel drank it all.  Do you want scotch or whiskey?"

            Glancing at Spike, Anya blushed slightly and followed Faith into the kitchen.  "Scotch, please."

*                      *                      *

            "So, then he leaves me standing in the church in my wedding dress and takes off for… for somewhere.  He left and I had to tell everyone the wedding was off."  Anya stopped and lifted her glass of scotch.  She gulped the last remaining drops and slammed the glass back on the table.  The slightly inebriated vengeance demon and rogue Slayer were on the couch in the Hyperion's sitting room while the two vampires with souls sat in the hotel's office flipping through case files.  Facing Faith, Anya continued, "That's when I became a demon again.  D'Hoffryn took me to Arashmaharr and offered to elevate me.  Again."  

            Faith shook her head.  "Men are evil.  Simple as that."

            "Men *are* evil.  I should have known this.  I was a vengeance demon for scorned women for eleven hundred years.  I witnessed men break women's hearts in every possible way and crush all of our hopes and dreams… and I still let it happen to me."  Anya stood, reached for her empty glass, and moved towards the kitchen.  She slowed to a stop.  In a quiet murmur tinged with regret and sorrow, she said, "I still loved him."

            She entered the kitchen and set her glass down on the counter as she stared out the small window above the sink.  Her reflection shone on the dusty pane of glass, a pale glimmer among the darkness of the night.  A soft sigh escaped her lips.  "I still love him."  Anya shifted slightly and picked up her glass; out of the corner of her eye, she saw a faint blur pass behind her in the smudged window.  Twisting around she saw Spike crouched in front of the refrigerator, scrounging for another beer.  Her gaze flickered from Spike back to the window.  She jumped slightly when the vampire slammed the refrigerator door.

            "How's the female bonding?  Filled with plenty of man hating, I suppose."

            "What?  Oh, yes, hating of the men.  We have the requisite amount of man hating.  Thank you for asking."

            Spike nodded.  He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and twirled the beer bottle in his hands.  "Good, good.  So… uh… I wanted to… um… say that I was… bloody hell… that I was sorry about what happened.  Between us.  You deserve better than a drunken one night stand."

            "Thank you."

            "So, how are you doing?"

            "Better, I guess.  What about you?"

            Spike smirked.  "Oh, I'm terrific.  Couldn't be better.  Big Bad's back in full force."

            Anya raised an eyebrow and examined her companion.  Dark blonde roots peeked out from behind gleaming curls of platinum.  The brash red silk of old had been replaced with a rumpled grey t-shirt.  The Big Bad hadn't returned; the Big Bad had disappeared.  Spike could no more return to his former life as the Slayer of Slayers then she could return to being Anyaka, the patron saint of scorned women.  They were more than demons, but less than human, caught in the limbo of not-quite-evil and not-quite-good.

            The door to the kitchen crashed open startling both Spike and Anya.  A sheepish grin crossed Angel's face as he entered the kitchen.  "Sorry."  He moved to the cupboard and rummaged through the contents.  "Did you find the potato chips yet?"

            Spike backed towards the door.  "Not yet.  You find them.  I'll be in the office."  He tilted his head towards Anya, a faint smile on his face, and left the kitchen.  

            Anya turned to Angel as the kitchen door slid shut.  "Do you know what happened to him after he left Sunnydale?"

            Angel paused, hand midway to mouth with a sour cream and onion potato chip grasped firmly in fingers.  He placed the chip and the chip bag on the counter, face impassive.  "Why do you ask?"  

            Her gaze flickered to the window, then back to Angel.  A knowing grin spread across her face.  "No reason," she said as she headed for the exit, the door swishing softly behind her.  "No reason at all."

*                      *                      *

            It was night.  The sounds of an elegant party drifted from the elaborate two story house.  Pushing open the intricately carved oak door, Buffy entered a large hall, populated with men in silk suits and ladies in satin gowns.  A gold chandelier illuminated the marble tiled entryway, and a long curved staircase ascended to the second floor.  A dark haired woman glided down the stairs, surveying the guests with a haughty air.

            A commotion to her right pulled Buffy's attention away from the elite woman.  She saw a man snatch a set of papers from a young gentleman and proceed to read aloud to the gathering crowd.

            "'My heart expands

            Tis grown a bulge in't,

            Inspired by your beauty effulgent.'"  

The man sneered as he gazed contemptuously at the papers in his hand.  "Effulgent?"

            The crowd laughed at the attempt at poetry.  Ignoring the partygoers, Buffy focused on the young man slinking off into a corner to approach the brunette from the stairs.  He had curly, light brown hair and wore a tan suit and silver glasses.  Vivid blue eyes, a full mouth, and sharp cheekbones caused Buffy's eyes to widen in recognition.  It was Spike- William.  The night he died.

            "I wouldn't watch anymore if I were you.  It gets quite brutal."

            Buffy spun and came face to face with Spike.  He had the same sandy hair and silver glasses as William, but he wore the black t-shirt, jeans, and boots of Spike.

            "Spike?  What are you doing here?"

            He smirked at her confusion.  "Like I said, I wouldn't watch.  It gets quite brutal."  He turned and climbed the stairs, gradually fading until he vanished completely.

            Turning to watch William and the brunette, Buffy gasped.  The warm, rich interior of the Victorian house had been replaced with a cold, dirty alley.  Her mouth hardened as she realized her location.  It was the alley behind the Sunnydale Police Station.  It was the night of Katrina's murder.

            "You're dead inside!  You can't feel anything real!  I could never… be your girl!"

            She watched herself pound on a prone Spike, punching him again and again until the dull thuds of flesh striking flesh reverberated in her ears, a hollow echo that made Buffy cringe and look away.

            Glancing back down the alley, Buffy found herself in a dark cave.  Spike kneeled in front of her, battered, bloodied, and exhausted.  A black entity with fierce green eyes floated out of the shadows, gliding between the two blondes as he said, "We have fulfilled your request."  The dark form melted once more into the inky shadows of the cave.

            "Confused?  I was.  Didn't know what to expect."  Spike stepped next to Buffy, watching as his counterpart collapsed into unconsciousness.  The dim light of the cave glinted off his silver glasses.  He smirked at her again.  "It hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought it would."

            Buffy angled her head and locked eyes with Spike.  "What hurt more?"

            "This."

            She followed his outstretched hand and saw Spike being tackled by a black haired vixen in leather pants.  Faith.  Buffy charged forward to push the brunette Slayer off Spike, but as she ran the room blurred and faded away leaving Buffy alone on an empty, dead-end street.  On the left side of the road, a high wall enclosed the Sunnydale Rest Haven cemetery; a dense forest grew on the right side.  An old, crumbling house sat at the end of the street.  Spike stood on the house's front porch; glancing behind him, he turned the knob, pushed the door, and slipped inside the house.

            Sprinting down the street, Buffy slammed into the door, which disappeared and sent her tumbling onto the ground.  Standing, she took in her surroundings.  She was in the Bronze.  The interior of the club was dark save for a spotlight that illuminated the second story balcony.

            She saw herself staring into space, eyes unfocused and empty.  A shock of black crossed the spotlight behind the other Buffy; midnight tipped fingers rested lightly on the balcony, trapping the blonde Slayer.

            "What would they think of you?  If they found out all the things you've done.  If they knew who you really were…"

            The door to the Bronze slammed shut.  Tearing her gaze from the balcony, Buffy ran to the entrance and burst from the club into the alley.  She saw her younger self spin around, eyes squinted in confusion, searching for the now all-to-familiar voice in the shadows.

            "What happens on Saturday?"

            Buffy looked into the murky blackness expecting to find pre-chip Spike slink into the light.  Instead, this new Spike, the strange mix of human William and vampire Spike, emerged from the darkness and walked towards her.

            "What happens on Saturday?"  The words came out before she realized she had opened her mouth to speak.  

            Spike stopped.  He tilted his head, a lock of sandy brown hair falling across his forehead, and replied, "I love you."  Pushing a honey colored curl behind her ear, his fingertips traced the contours of her face.  They glided over her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, the curve of her eyebrows.  He touched the corner of her mouth and the plush center of her bottom lip.  A wistful smile appeared on his face.  

            She reached up and brushed her fingertips across his lips.  She closed her eyes, intensifying the sensation of his cool, calloused fingertips on her lips and icy softness of his lips beneath her fingers.  She smiled softly.

            "Within a month the Hellmouth will be ours."

*                      *                      *

            Buffy's eyes flew open at the sound of the cold, arrogant voice invading her mind.  Sitting up in her bed, she ran a hand through her tangled hair and gasped for breath.  It was the third night she had awoken to dreams of Spike.  The other dreams were just glimpses of their tortured, tangled relationship, a montage of images compiled by her subconscious.  This dream was different.  She had had a Slayer dream.  Visions of the past, present, and future melded together in an incoherent mass of vagueness.

            Sliding off the bed, Buffy tiptoed towards her bedroom window and pulled back the drapes.  Ivory moonlight covered the outside world, creating pools of blackness that softened the night's harsh edges and hid its dangers.  

            'The Hellmouth will be ours.'

            Shivering, Buffy let the drapes fall back into place.  She returned to her bed and wrapped her arms around her knees.  

            'I wouldn't watch.  It gets quite brutal.'

            Buffy glanced at her closet door.  She closed her eyes for a moment and laid her head on her knees.

            'I love you.'

            She stood and walked to her closet door.  Opening it, she pushed her shirts, skirts, jackets, and pants to the side.  She dug her way to the very back of the closet, her fingertips coming in contact with soft black leather.  Tugging on the hanger, she grasped the leather duster she had found on the banister of the stairs and wrapped it around her body.  She breathed in the scent of tobacco and blood and liquor, combined with just a hint of danger and mystery and undiluted emotion.  It was everything that was Spike.

            Curling deeper within the leather duster, Buffy climbed back on her bed, closed her eyes, and fell back asleep.

*                      *                      *            


	8. Coffee, Cookies, and Conversation

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  The characters of BtVS do not belong to me.  In my ideal world, they are all mine.  But, sadly, in reality they are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc.  I'm just borrowing them to tell my story.  

AN: Relatively shorter chapter, but filled with lots of good stuff.  Thanks to SpikeLover7, my fellow CW and SACer, who is a wonderful beta.  And thanks to each and every person who had read, and especially, reviewed my story.  Reviews mean a lot, and I am thankful for each and every one.

Chapter Eight: Coffee, Cookies, and Conversation

By: Wynn

            The Espresso Pump was crowded with the citizens of Sunnydale enjoying the sunny morning.  Xander sat at a corner table in the coffee shop's veranda.  He glanced at his watch and took another gulp of coffee.  He had called and left a message on Anya's answering machine a few days ago to suggest a meeting time for coffee, but she hadn't returned his call, and she hadn't been to the Magic Box since Willow's return.  He had asked Giles if he knew of Anya's whereabouts, but all the Watcher had said was that he hadn't seen her.  So now Xander sat amid the swarm of coffee, mocha, and cappuccino drinkers hoping that his ex-fiancée would appear.  So that he could explain why he had acted the way he had.  So that he could try make things right.

            "Hi."

            Xander started at the sound of Anya's voice.  She sat down across from him, fruit smoothie grasped between her hands.  A nervous grimace crossed her face.  "I wasn't sure that you would come.  You, uh, haven't been around, so I- I left a message."

            "I said I would have coffee with you, Xander.  I don't back out of promises."

            Xander clenched his jaw.  "Ok, I deserved that.  But how long are you going to keep throwing it back in my face?"  He set his coffee on the table and looked into Anya's eyes.  "I made a mistake.  I should've stayed and explained what I was feeling, but I didn't and I can't go back and undo what I did."

            Anya sighed and slumped against the back of her chair.  "I know.  I'm sorry.  This is a very difficult and confusing situation.  I don't want to be nice to you, but you keep being nice to me and then I feel guilty for being mean."

            A crooked smile appeared on his face.  "I deserve the mean stuff."  The grin faded. "You haven't done anything to feel guilty for.  Not even… not even for…"

            "For sleeping with Spike?"

            Xander tightened his grasp on his styrofoam coffee cup, crushing it, spilling coffee over the table.  Grabbing napkins, he wiped the dark liquid off the table top and threw the soaked bundle and crumpled cup in the trash.  He returned to the table and sat down, face stony.  After a few minutes of silence, he sucked in a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face.  "Do you have to be so blunt about what you did with… with… him?"

            Anya folded her arms across her chest.  "Yes.  Spike and I were drunk, and we were hurt, so we slept together.  And if you and I are going to have any sort of a relationship, you need to accept what happened because I can't change what I did."

            "So I'm supposed to just accept that he touched you and kissed you?  That you kissed him back?  That you were compassionate towards him?"  He stared at Anya, hatred and anger glinting beneath the surface of his brown eyes.  "He doesn't deserve to touch you, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve your compassion."

            "Why?"

            "Because you're better than him."

            Anya straightened her back and tilted her chin in the air.  Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.  "I'm better than him.  Why?  Because he's a soulless demon?  Because he's killed hundreds, thousands of people without feeling any remorse?  Because he tried to kill you and Willow and Buffy?"

            "Yes."

            She leaned across the table, golden eyes flashing with fury.  "Reality check, Xander.  I am a 'soulless' demon who has killed hundreds of thousands in the name of vengeance.  I killed you and Willow and Buffy and practically everyone else in Sunnydale when I manipulated Cordelia into making a wish against you."  She sat back against the chair.  Her entire body trembled.  "So tell me how am I better than Spike?  Is it because you love me?  Does being loved by a human make you better?  If that's correct, then I really am no better than Spike."

            "What?  What are you talking about?"

            Anya shook her head.  She looked at Xander, her eyes heavy with sadness.  "You love me, Xander, but you hate what I am."

            "No, I don't.  You weren't always a demon.  You could-"

            "Could what?  Change back to human form?  Would that make everything Ok?  Please, Xander, tell me how would it make everything Ok?  Would I be nicer as a human?  Would you love me more if I weren't a demon?"  She lowered her voice until it was barely above a whisper.  "I was a human for twenty three years, Xander.  I was a demon for eleven hundred.  You wouldn't be able to comprehend the things I've witnessed over the past millennia.  The things I've done.  I can't ignore the demon part of me, I can't flip it off like a light switch, and it wouldn't just disappear if I became a human again."

            She watched Xander try to comprehend all she had said.   Her eyes filled with tears as she pushed her chair back and stood.  "I'm sorry this is difficult for you…  I have to get to the shop now.  Goodbye."  Anya turned and walked away from the table and the coffee shop onto the busy Main Street of Sunnydale.

*                      *                      *

            Dawn pushed through the door to the Magic Box, holding it open for Buffy who was engrossed in the classified ads of the Sunnydale News & Observer.  The scent of fresh paint drifted throughout the store; the walls were painted a soft eggshell.  All of the dust and debris had been vacuumed off the floor, the windows had been cleaned, and new lights installed.  The absolute destruction that had been the Magic Box was replaced with a bright, airy shop.  The Summers sisters walked over to the small metal table that had been placed in the middle of the empty store.  Dawn slung her canvas bag on the metal surface and perched on one of the stools circling the table; she rolled her eyes as Buffy plopped onto the floor, gnawing on the end of a red pen, hazel eyes intent upon the folded newspaper.  "Found anything yet?"

            Buffy shook her head and sighed.  She took the pen out of her mouth and twirled it in her hand as she said, "No.  So far every job hiring is either a fast food place or a funeral home.  I'll find something soon."

            Pulling out a bag of cookies, Dawn said, "I still don't see why you don't get paid by the Watcher's Council.  Giles does, and he's not even the Slayer.  You are.  You do all the work."

            Buffy looked at her sister.  "I don't do **all the work.  Even if the Council of Stuffed Shirts was offering a steady paycheck, I'd still pass.  I don't want those people in charge of our financial future."  She returned to the newspaper.  Flipping a page, she scanned down the columns of available jobs; her gaze stopped on a small ad at the bottom of the page.  She brought the paper over to the metal table and placed it before Dawn.  "This sounds decent."**

            The ad was for a local martial arts dojo that was looking for a new self-defense instructor.  Dawn smiled.  The training sessions between her and Buffy had improved immensely since the first; the sisters had relaxed into their respective roles of teacher and student and now enjoyed their time together. Much to Dawn's surprise, Buffy had come a long way from the drill instructor of the first lesson, becoming an excellent teacher.  This job would be perfect for her.  "Sounds good.  How much does it pay?"

            Buffy rolled her eyes at Dawn as she grabbed a cookie and sat on one of the stools.  Examining the ad, she said, "It certainly pays more than the Doublemeat Dungeon did.  And no weird grease smell anymore.  A definite improvement.  I'll stop by tomorrow, fill out an application."  

            The door to the training room opened and Giles entered the shop.  He pulled the door closed and smiled at Buffy and Dawn as he crossed the length of the bare store.  Noticing the red ink stained newspaper, he said to Buffy, "Have you found anything yet?"

            "You mean anything that doesn't involve fried meat or formaldehyde?  Possibly."  Buffy looked from Giles to Dawn.  "I need to talk to Giles.  Alone.  Will you be alright here?"

            Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Yes, Mother Hen.  I will be fine."

            "Sorry, sorry.  Old habits die hard, especially when they concern your little sister."  Sliding off the stool, Buffy led Giles towards the training room.  She reached for the handle, but Giles stepped between her and the training room door.  She stepped back a little and looked at her Watcher quizzically.

            "Willow is back there," Giles explained.  He moved away from the door to the corner of the shop.  "We were working on a meditation exercise when you and Dawn came in."

            "Oh."  Buffy glanced at the closed door that enclosed her friend in solitude.  "How- how is she?  We- I haven't seen her much since she came back."

            Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "She's, ah, improving.  She's recovered some emotional stability.  The meditation exercises have been helping.  She's almost ready to be taken to the coven."

            "Have you spoken to her about it?"

            "A little.  She seems to realize that there is to be some sort of repercussions for her abuses of magic, although I don't know if she understands that her abilities are to be binded.  I believe she thinks that the coven is going to teach her how to better handle her abilities."

            Buffy glanced at the door.  "Do you want me to be with you when you tell her what's really going to happen?"

            Giles shook his head as he replaced his glasses.  "No.  Thank you though.  I'll be fine.  Is there something specific you needed to speak to me about?"

            "Yeah.  I think someone is looking to take control of the Hellmouth.  I don't know who, or what, wants to be the new crown Prince of Darkness, but I'm pretty sure that there's a new evil brewing."

            Giles' brows drew together as he pondered Buffy's admission.  "How-"

            "I had a Slayer dream.  A voice, a very not-so-nice voice, said 'Within a month, the Hellmouth will be ours.'"

            Giles nodded.  "Everyone should best be on their guard.  Especially you.  Do you need any assistance on patrolling?  An extra set of eyes and ears?"

            "Maybe, but it wouldn't be because of that.  There's this second thing I need to talk to you about."  Buffy paused and drew in a breath, mentally preparing herself to tell Giles her intuition.  If she were right, another explosive variable was about to be thrown into the shaky, delicate environment that was the Scooby Gang.  Exhaling softly, she said, "I think Faith may be out of prison."

            "What?"

            "Well, she might not be out yet.  She might be getting out soon.  She had a cameo in the same Slayer dream as the wannabe rulers of the Hellmouth."

            Giles rubbed a hand over his brow.  "I haven't heard anything about her release from the Watcher's Council.  Although they wouldn't know anything anyway."

            "She could have pulled the Great Escape.  Had enough of rehabilitation, decided to use her Slayer strength to break out of prison."  

            "Possibly.  I'll call-"

            "Buffy!"  A crash of metal hitting wood resounded through the store.  Dawn's scream sent Buffy and Giles running from the corner to the front of the shop where they found one stool on its side and crumbled cookies spread across the floor.  Dawn stood behind the table; her eyes wide with shock and panic were glued to the entrance of the Magic Box.  

            Faith stepped from the brilliant light of day into the creamy, cool interior of the shop.  She was dressed in her usual black on black, eyes lined heavily in kohl and midnight eye shadow.  A few pieces of paper were in her left hand; a small duffel bag was clutched in her right. 

            "B."

*                      *                      *

            Preview for Chapter Nine:   Faith vs. the Scooby Gang

                                                         More Spike and Angel

                                                          Buffy's new job… and new boss


	9. Five by Five

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Buffy, Spike, Giles, and the rest of the characters of BtVS do not belong to me.  They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc.  I borrow them for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.

AN:  Here's the entire chapter.  If you read Part One (posted on Tuesday), then skip the first section.  Nothing's changed.  I just added the final two sections after the first.  

         Just a warning: there is a reference to the murder of a child in the second section.  Nothing too graphic (i.e. no blood and guts)  

         Reviews are wonderful things, so please leave one.   

Chapter Nine: Five by Five    

By: Wynn

            "Faith."

            The name reverberated through the shop, echoing off walls, twisting around the four witnesses to its utterance, an invisible cord capturing all within its web of potential dangers and past deceptions.  Faith had returned to Sunnydale.     

            The rogue Slayer remained by the open door.  She watched Buffy, waiting for the blonde to react to her presence, with words, with fists, or with both.  Yet Buffy remained mute and still, hazel eyes fixed on Faith.  A minute passed, then two with no movement and no sound.  Faith glanced from Buffy to Dawn, still rooted next to the metal table, then at Giles, standing calmly and staring at her, before returning her gaze to Buffy.  Obviously the first move was up to her.    

            Faith set her bag on the floor and Buffy edged around the metal table.  The blonde Slayer walked towards the center of the room while the brunette moved away from the entrance.  They stopped a few paces away from each other, bodies tense with anticipation, the past betrayals returning to the forefront with a vengeance.  A veil of lies hung between the two women, the two chosen to harbor the strength and skill to fight the forces of darkness.  One light.  One dark.  Both deadly.    

            Faith glanced at the papers in her hand.  They were her salvation, her proof that she had been released instead of escaped from prison.  Returning her gaze to Buffy, she relaxed her stance and stretched out her hand, the papers dangling at the tips of her fingers.  

            Buffy arched an eyebrow.  Her eyes flickered from the documents, to Giles, then back to Faith.  A minute passed before Buffy lifted her hand.  Her fingertips brushed the edge of the papers when a movement at the back of the bare shop captured her attention.  The door to the training room had opened.

            Faith turned and saw a black eyed Willow staring at her.  Her release papers were snatched out of her hand; they shot across the Magic Box and were plucked out of the air by Willow.  She scanned the documents, lips curling in a smirk.  

            "They let you out of prison?"

            Faith folded her arms across her body.  "Yeah."

            Willow strolled into the center of the shop as she said, "They shouldn't have.  Not after what you've done.  You've murdered and tortured people.  You don't deserve freedom."

            Faith stiffened.  Her eyes hardened and a deadly smirk appeared on her face.  "Well, I guess you're the expert on these things.  After all you've done some torturing yourself.  I have to say skinning a man alive, nice work.  Very evil.  I didn't know you had it in you, Willow.  *I* don't have the balls to do something like that, and I'm a convicted-"

            Willow's eyes flashed.  Faith flew through the air, crashing into the shop's front window.  Shards of glass rained down on her as she landed on the sidewalk, small chunks of the broken window digging into her back, hands, and thighs.  She drew in a few ragged breaths, her dark eyes wide and fixed on the fluffy white clouds that drifted on the morning breeze.  "Oh, fuck."  The sound of heels on pavement caused the brunette to sit up.  She saw Anya sprinting down the street, followed closely by Xander.  As the blonde vengeance demon passed under a streetlight, she teleported, reappearing next to Faith.    

            "Faith!  Are you Ok?"  Anya kneeled and brushed a few shards of glass off of her body.  

            "I'm five by five."

            "What happened?"

            Faith groaned as she stood.  She examined the jagged edges of the broken window and said, "Pissed Willow off."

            Xander reached the entrance to the shop, out of breath, confusion and concern on his face.  "What?  What happened?  Willow?"  He peered into the interior of the Magic Box.  His eyes widened as Willow sauntered out of the shop, green eyes blackened from magic.

            Buffy jumped through the destroyed window.  She stepped in front of Willow, blocking her path to Faith, and said, "Willow, wait."

            "No."  Willow shifted to the right, but Buffy slid in front of her again.  

            "Don't do this Willow."

            "Why-"

            "Willow."  Giles stood in the doorway, half draped in shadow, half bathed in light, holding a violet crystal in his hand.  As Willow turned towards him, he said, voice low and smooth, "Willow, hear my voice.  Focus on my voice.  I want you to remember.  Remember the green room.  When I say, you will return to the green room.  You will return and shut out all other sights and sounds.  Return."

            The crystal glimmered and Willow blinked once, twice.  The black faded from her eyes as they drooped shut; her head tilted back slightly and she breathed deeply.

            Xander stared at his best friend.  "What did you do to her?"

            Giles sighed.  "I returned her to the state of meditation she had been in.  It's a form of hypnosis, only more powerful thanks to this."  He held up the violet crystal.  It sparkled in the brilliant light of day.  

            Anya stepped close to Giles and examined the shimmering gemstone.  "A voltaia crystal.  I haven't seen one of these in two centuries."

            "They are rare.  This one has been in my family for generations.  We, uh, used it as a paperweight."  His face tightened as he looked at Willow; he removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his forehead.  "Xander, could you take Willow to the back and sit her on the sofa?  She should be under for the next hour or so."

            Xander nodded and gripped Willow's slack hand.  He pulled on her arm, tugging her forward, and led her back into the building.  

            "So," Buffy said, placing her hands on her hips.  She faced Faith, who was picking glass shards from the palm of her hand.  "How did you know about Willow?"

            Anya spoke before Faith could answer.  "I told her."

            "You what?"

            Anya tore her gaze from the gleaming crystal and directed it towards Buffy.  Irritation was evident in her brown eyes.  "I told Faith about Willow."

            Placing the crystal in the pocket of his jeans, Giles asked, "When did you, ah, talk to Faith?"

            "A few days ago."  Anya glanced at Giles' crystal laden pocket and frowned.  She moved away from him, walking over to Faith and carefully brushing a few slivers of glass from Faith's hair. 

            Buffy gaped at the two women.  "A few *days* ago?  You talked to her a few days ago?  And you didn't think to tell us about it?"

            "I thought about it.  I just decided not to say anything."

            "You what?"

            Giles interrupted the brewing argument.  He peered at Faith and Anya.  "Where did you two, ah, have the opportunity to talk?  In prison?"

            Faith and Anya glanced at each other.  The blonde shrugged, grimacing as she watched Faith tug on a splinter of glass in her hand.  Rolling her eyes, Faith tossed the splinter on the ground and said, "Not exactly.  We crossed paths in L.A."

            "In L.A.?"

            Anya sighed.  "At Angel's.  And before you ask, Buffy, I will not tell you why I was at Angel's.  This interrogation is finished."

            "Anya," Giles said, "we're trying to understand why Faith has returned to Sunnydale.  This is not an interrogation."

            Faith pointed at the shop.  "The answer's right there."

            Dawn poked her head out of the broken window.  She lifted her hand and waved Faith's release papers in front of everyone.  Her long legs arched over the jagged window as she stepped outside.  She handed the papers to Giles and said, "Thought you all might need these.  All they say is that Faith was released from prison under your care.  You're supposed to be her Watcher again."

            Giles scrutinized the documents.  "The Council never mentioned anything about your release.  Although with everything that has occurred in the last month or so, we wouldn't have noticed if they had tried."  

            Buffy looked inside the Magic Box.  "She needs to be taken to the coven.  Now.  Before she loses control again."

            Giles nodded.  "I know."  His gaze flickered from the shop to Faith and back again.     

            "I'll take her."  Five faces turned towards Xander, who leaned against the doorjamb.  He said to Giles, "You'll have your hands full with Faith now, and Buffy still has to get a new job.  I'm the next best one to take Willow to England."

            "Xander, are you sure?"

            "Yeah.  She won't do anything to me.  Just tell me where this coven is so I can make plane reservations."

            "I will in a moment."  He examined Faith, taking in her multiple cuts and shredded clothing.  "It would be best if we continued this tomorrow.  You need to get those cuts cleaned and bandaged.  Do you, ah, have someplace to stay for the night?"

            "She's staying with me," Anya said, looking at Faith for confirmation.  As the brunette nodded, Anya returned her gaze to Giles.  Past the Watcher, she could see Xander.  His face was set in a stony mask; he pivoted and walked back into the store.

            Giles nodded slightly.  "Alright.  Faith, be here at 10am tomorrow.  I need to know more about your release, as well as where you have been in the past few weeks.  Anya, could you take her to the hospital?"

            "Yes."

            Faith nodded towards the Magic Box.  "My bag.  It's on the floor."

            "I'll get it."  Anya walked in the shop for a moment before returning with the bag.  She glanced at the broken window and said, "What about-"

            "I'll grab some plywood, cover it up," Buffy said.  "Dawn can sweep up the glass."

            Anya remained silent for a moment before flashing tight smile towards Buffy.  "Thank you."

            "No problem."

            "Well," Anya said to Faith as the pair walked away from the Magic Box.  They stepped onto the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the Sunnydale hospital.  "You certainly know how to make an entrance.  Though next time, could you not crash through the window of my store?"

*                      *                      *

            "How do you think she's doing?"

            "Faith?"

            "No, you git.  The Queen Mum.  Yes, Faith."

            Spike and Angel sat on the roof of the Hyperion, the twinkling city of Los Angeles spread out beneath them.  Clouds swirled overhead, a torrent mixture of blacks and greys threatening to rupture with a ripe thunderstorm.  The sounds of the city drifted to the rooftop on the swirling winds; dogs barked and car horns blared, doors slammed shut and sirens wailed.  The uncertainty of the storm had set the sprawling metropolis on edge.    

            "I don't know," Angel said.  "She has a lot of history with Buffy.  Most of it isn't pleasant.  But they've both changed since their last encounter."  He glanced at Spike out of the corner of his eye.  "Why do you ask?"

            "No reason.  Just curious."

            "Hmm.  Are you nervous about going back?"

            "No.  Why would I be nervous?  I'm only returning to the town where everyone hates me to apologize to the woman I love for almost raping her.  I have nothing to be nervous about."

            "Not everyone hates you.  Anya doesn't hate you."

            "That's because I don't treat her like a freak for being a demon." 

            "And that guy you told me about, what was his name?"

            "Clem."

            "He doesn't hate you."

            Spike sighed and leaned back on his hands.  He stared into the night sky, eyes hidden in shadow.  "No," he murmured, "he doesn't hate me either.  That's two out of a whole town."

            "Two is better than none."

            "Not if it's not the right two."  He sat up, drawing a leg up and setting an elbow on it.  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and said, "Am I crazy for going back?"

            Angel studied the younger vampire for a minute before responding.  "No.  There's nothing crazy about trying to set things right."

            "Guess not."  Spike turned his face towards the sky.  The clouds parted, revealing a glimpse of the star laden heavens.  The pale light of the moon danced over his features, highlighting the creases around his eyes and mouth.  "I found a girl sitting outside just like this once.  Looking at the stars.  It was 1936, not so many lights around back then, so you could see them better than you can now.  She was so intent on the stars that she didn't even notice I was there until I sat down next to her.  She wasn't even afraid of me.  Just started naming the stars and pointing out the different constellations that she knew.  I snapped her neck when she got to Orion and took her back home to Dru for a midnight snack."  He looked at Angel now, tears flowing freely down his face.  "I didn't even care.  I just slung her dead body over my shoulder and carted her back to Dru.  How do you set something like that right?"

            "You can't."

            Spike raked a hand across his face, viciously wiping at the tears that stained his cheeks.  "I know," he whispered.  

            "But apologizing to Buffy isn't the same thing as trying to atone for all of the people you've killed.  You try to do that, and you'll get sucked into the past and dwell in all of the misery you caused, all the pain you created.  I spent eighty years like that.  Reliving every moment I stalked someone, every moment I drained their blood and threw their body to the side like a piece of garbage. And it nearly drove me insane."

            One corner of Spike's mouth quirked up.  "So that's what I have to look forward to?  A padded room and my own custom made straight jacket?"  He glanced at Angel and shrugged.  "Better than 500 years in a hell dimension I suppose."

            Angel shook his head.  "No.  It's not."  He watched the clouds float over the exposed stars, blanketing the world in darkness once again.  "It takes a lot to admit a mistake.  Takes even more to apologize for it."  He looked at Spike as the first crackle of thunder sounded in the distance.  Angel stood and dug into the pocket of his black jacket; he pulled out a slim book, wiped the cover clean, and handed it to Spike.  "Something for those moments when the past comes back to haunt you."

            Spike examined the object held in his hands.  It was a book of poetry.

*                      *                      *

              The Hellmouth loves to keep the status quo.  One vampire's dusted, another vampire rises.  One person dies, only to be reincarnated as a ghost.  And one unstable woman who's tortured and killed left town just as another unstable woman who's tortured and killed arrived.  Buffy sighed as she crossed Main Street, the remnants of yesterday's storm clouds obscuring the midmorning sunlight.  Thunder, rain, and lightning had drenched Sunnydale the night before.  Thunderstorms on the Hellmouth usually cause the resident evil to come out and play, so last night was a fun-filled, water-soaked, mud-covered slaying adventure for Buffy.  The quiet that usually signaled the arrival of summer in Sunnydale had been obliterated by a brunette in black leather and a red headed, black eyed Wicca.

            Buffy stopped in front of a large brick building with mirrored windows.  A plain sign with the word "Mossino's" engraved on it hung over the glass doors.  She glanced at the newspaper advertisement in her hand, then back at the small plaque designating the building's address.  This was the right place.  Buffy stuffed the scrap of paper in the back pocket of her jeans and pushed open the heavy door.  The inside of the building was spacious.  It had a high ceiling sprinkled with skylights; fluorescent lights buzzed softly, illuminating the airy interior.  To the right of the door sat weights, treadmills, and various other exercise machines.  A small office lay directly across from the front doors, and a narrow hallway running alongside the edge of the office headed towards changing rooms.  An arched entryway on the left side of the building led to a large, empty room.  Stepping away from the entrance, Buffy walked through the entryway into the open area.

            The right wall was covered in mirrors, which reflected the outside world peeking into the dojo through the windows.  Two oak trophy cases stood against the far back wall; various plaques and certificates filled the space surrounding the cases.  Buffy approached the cases; they were filled with first place awards for Tony Mossino from numerous martial arts competitions.  Some were in the weapons division, others in full contact sparring, stretching back ten years.  

            "Do you need something?"

            Buffy spun at the sound of the rough voice behind her.  A tall, broad shouldered man leaned against the entryway, arms folded across his chest.  He had close cropped dark hair and light colored eyes, and he wore a pair of loose black pants and a white tank top.  "Yeah.  A job."

            The man raised an eyebrow, his eyes slowly drifting from the top of her head down to her toes.  A smirk appeared on his face as he said, "Beauty parlor's down the street."

            Buffy stared at the man for a moment before a tight smile flashed across her face.  She placed her hands on her hips and said, "I'm looking for Tyler Mossino.  The ad in the newspaper said this place needed a new self-defense instructor."

            "I'm Tyler."  He pushed off the wall and sauntered into the room, eyes fixed on Buffy's lithe form and honey colored curls.  "And like I said, the beauty parlor's down the street."

            Sighing, Buffy folded her arms across her chest and moved towards Tyler.  "Just give me a shot.  I have self-defense training and I'm stronger than I look."

            "You don't look strong enough to break a twig."

            "Good thing you're not a twig."

            Tyler closed his eyes and sighed.  Pointing towards the back of the building, he said, "Alright, alright.  I'll give you a shot.  There's some pads in the locker room-"

            "I won't need pads.  You might though."

            Tyler snorted.  "I doubt it."

            "You won't."

            They headed for the center of the room and faced each other.  Tyler bowed, lips curling into a smile.  "Just to be nice, I'll give you the first shot."  

            Buffy rolled her eyes.  She threw an easy punch which he blocked and countered with one of his own.  Buffy dodged to the right and dropped down, right leg swooping out to knock Tyler off of his feet.  He jumped at the last second, momentarily thrown by her speed and agility.  He aimed a right jab at Buffy.  Blocking the punch, she darted to the left and lashed out with a hard kick to the ribs, knocking him to the floor.  He flipped up, focused, mouth in a grim line.  Tyler rushed her, preparing for a shot to her gut, when she ducked and used his momentum to throw him over her shoulder.  He landed on the floor with a thud, knocking the breath out of him.  Buffy placed a foot on his chest and looked down on him smiling.

            "Do I have the job?  Or do you need another demonstration?"  

            Tyler closed his eyes and chuckled softly.  He ran a hand over his short, black hair; he opened his eyes and glanced at the tiny blonde who had bested him within two minute.  Manuevering into a sitting position, he said, "You have the job."

*                      *                      *                           


	10. Shadows and Moonlight

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Spike, or any of the other characters of BtVS.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc.

AN:  Wicked good episode this week.  I think I've finally recovered.  Hope everyone likes this chapter; it's long and full of action.  As always, reviews are wonderful, except if they're flamey.  J  I hope to have the next chapter posted by Thursday Oct. 10.

Chapter Ten: Shadows and Moonlight

By: Wynn

            Hard thwacks, dull thuds, and breathless grunts echoed in the training room of the Magic Box.  The air was stifled with sweat and tension, and the warm, humid breeze that whispered through the open door did nothing to lessen the heat of the day.  Dawn stood in front of Buffy and executed a hard kick towards one of the protective pads covering her sister's hands.  The sound of her tennis shoe pounding against the thick leather resounded through the room.  A similar thud sounded seconds later, emanating from Faith, who sparred with a thoroughly protected Giles.  

            Dawn sent a right hook towards Buffy's hand.  A weak echo of impact drifted through the building, causing Dawn to wince.  She held up her hands as Buffy placed her padded fists on her hips.  "I know, I know," Dawn said.  "I punched like a girl again.  I didn't even punch.  I just waved with my fists closed.  I didn't put my whole body behind it and I'll never do it again.  I promise." 

            Buffy closed her mouth with a snap, her important kernel of fighting knowledge withering on her lips.  She pushed a strand of sweat drenched hair out of her face and nodded.  "Ok, then.  Good to know that you know about punching.  It's vital and important, and I never said you punched like a girl.  I said it was-"

            "You called it a girly punch."

            "Well, sort of.  It was kind of wimpy."

            Dawn smiled, a tiny giggle escaping her lips.  "Yeah, it was.  But I've gotten much better since that first wimpy punch.  It's a startling, impressive improvement for a relative combat newbie such as myself.  And-"

            Buffy raised an eyebrow.  "You have gotten better, but-"

            "And I think this signifies that I have surpassed this basic level of training and am ready to move on to the next one."

            "Really."

            Dawn nodded.  "Yes."

            "And what, oh impressive one, is this next level you're ready for?"

            "Patrolling."

            "Not a chance."

            Dawn folded her arms across her chest and glowered at Buffy.  The blonde Slayer slipped off the training pads, placed her free hands back on her hips, and stared down her sister.  Sighing, Dawn said, "I've learned how to block and dodge and punch and kick and throw people and hit the pads really hard, but how am I supposed to learn how to put it all together and fight if I never actually fight?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "Watch Bruce Lee.  You'll learn everything you need."

            "Buffy, it's summer.  There's never any real danger in Sunnydale in the summer.  I probably wouldn't even come across a vamp if I went patrolling."  She paused, running a hand over her long brown hair.  Her eyes lit up as another persuasive tactic appeared in her head.  "And I wouldn't even have to fight.  I could just watch you fight.  You know, learning by imitation?"

            Buffy bit her lip gently.  "I don't know, Dawn.  There are too many unpredictables involved in patrolling.  It's not safe."

            Dawn rolled her eyes.  "Of course it's not safe.  That's why you're training me, remember?"  Her gaze drifted to the other side of the room to Faith.  The brunette Slayer jumped in the air, aiming a high kick for Giles' outstretched hand.  Her boot connected roughly with the pad; Giles cursed and pulled his hand out of the leather mitt.  He wiggled his fingers a bit, muttering to himself.  Dawn turned back to Buffy and said, "What if I watch you fight in a less predictable environment?  Like the back room of the Magic Box?"

            Buffy's eyes darted to the opposite corner of the room.  Giles slumped against the far wall, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his face.  He gulped water from a small jug.  Faith danced around the punching bag; the heavy bag jumped and jingled with every kick and jab.  "No.  I'm not fighting Faith."

            "Why not?  We're in the Magic Box, so it's safer than patrolling.  And you haven't trained in a long time, well, besides your job, but you only teach women how to kick guys in the balls, so it's no big.   You need a challenge.  And, fighting you is definitely a better way of seeing what Faith can do than watching her pummel Giles.  And-"

            Buffy held up her hand.  "Dawn.  I don't think it's a good idea."

            "Why?  Are you afraid she'll beat you?"

            "What?  No.  Of course not.  It's just that… it's Faith."  Buffy's eyes flickered from Faith to Dawn.  Off of her sister's exasperated look, she closed her eyes and said, "Ok, ok.  God, if I had been as eager to train as you are, Giles would've been so much happier."  

            Leaving a beaming Dawn, Buffy crossed the room and sat next to Giles.  She watched Faith land a vicious side kick to the center of the bag, followed by a sharp jab.  She bit the corner of her lip and said, "How's the training going?"

            "Good.  She, uh, hasn't lost any of her fighting abilities.  And she seems to be in better control of her anger, using it constructively instead of spiraling into rage.  However, all we have done is basic training.  How she acts during an actual fight might be quite different."  He looked at Buffy.  "What about Dawn?"

            Buffy tore her gaze from Faith and peered at her sister.   "Oh, she's good.  Really good actually.  You know, for a non-Slayer person."

            "The monks did create her out of you, Buffy, so it's natural to assume that some of your Slayer skills have passed onto Dawn." 

            "Yeah, and now she wants to see those Slayer skills in action.  Against Faith."  One side of her mouth quirked up as she glanced at Giles.  "Dawn said it would be learning through watching or something like that."

            Giles rubbed a towel on his forehead.  "I think that it's a good idea."

            "What?  You can't be serious."

            Sighing, Giles laid the towel on the floor and turned towards Buffy.  "I am, especially if Faith is to begin patrolling again.  An evenly matched fight would be a better assessment of her mind set and, and control of her anger and aggression than having her pound my hand into pulp." 

            "But it's Faith.  All of our fights lead to badness and comas."

            "Buffy, the circumstances are different this time.  It's not a fight to the death.  It's training."

            Buffy sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.  She exhaled softly as she said, "Fine, but if anything gets destroyed or, or broken or anything like that, you're cleaning it up."    

            Giles smirked.  "Of course."

            "And you're telling Faith about this."

            "Telling Faith about what?"

            Buffy's eyes popped open.  Faith stood before her and Giles, chugging water from a plastic bottle.  The brunette placed the bottle on the ground and looked from Giles to Buffy, one eyebrow raised in confusion.  A small, tight smile twisted Buffy's lips.  "Tell you about training.  We're, uh, going to train together.  As in fight.  With each other, here in the Magic Box."

            Faith stared at Buffy for a few seconds before turning to Giles; her brown eyes were wide with disbelief.  "You want me to fight B?"

            Giles nodded.  "Yes.  Do you feel you're ready?"

            "Um, sure.  I guess."  Her eyes flickered to Buffy.  "You Ok with this?"

            Buffy shrugged as she stood.  "Yeah."  She walked past Faith into the center of the training room, attempting to stretch the muscles in her arms, shoulders, and neck.  She was tight and tense, her breathing slow and deep.  Her heart pounded as she smoothed a few stray hairs back into her ponytail and faced Faith.

            Faith bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, her dark brown hair partially obscuring her face.  Sweat coated the palms of her hands and dripped down the small of her back; she sucked in one deep breath, then another.  Her kohl rimmed eyes were focused on Buffy.

            The summer breeze whipped through the room.  Old tensions traveled the chaotic winds, roughly caressing the two Slayers.  Buffy's fist shot out towards Faith.  The brunette blocked and sent a return punch.  Buffy ducked; she aimed quick jab at Faith's stomach.  Her fist was caught by Faith, who swung Buffy into the heavy punching bag.  Buffy bounced off the bag, blonde hair slipping out of the ponytail.  Her face hardened as she lashed out with her right leg.  Her foot connected with Faith's midsection, causing the brunette to stumble backwards.  Buffy pressed the advantage and kicked at Faith again.  Faith dodged and dropped into a crouch; her leg swooped out, circling towards Buffy.  The blonde jumped, landing as Faith jumped up from the ground.  Chests heaving from exertion, they stared at each other, eyes wide.  

            Faith darted to the right and attempted a fierce side kick at Buffy; she connected with a high roundhouse.  Buffy's head snapped back and Faith moved forward.  She sent a left hook towards the blonde, but her arm was grabbed by Buffy.  The blonde head butted Faith, then elbowed her hard in the stomach; the back of Buffy's fist smashed into her face.  She twirled around Faith, who seized Buffy's arm and yanked the blonde back towards her.  Faith kneed Buffy in the stomach and sent a high kick towards her head, releasing the arm as her boot smashed into Buffy's temple.  Buffy staggered, shaking her head slightly.  Her eyes narrowed, hard hazel glimmers turning towards Faith.  Faith returned the glare; her own dark eyes were alight with anger.  Buffy straightened.  She shoved a loose strand of hair into her ponytail.  Faith shook her head, whipping her hair out of her vision.  Harsh, jagged pants echoed in the silence covering the Magic Box.  

            Buffy jumped, her leg extending in a front kick.  Faith blocked, moved back a couple of steps, and dodged another flying kick from Buffy.  The brunette spun in a circle, lashing out with her right leg.  The brutal back kick caught Buffy in the chest.  Buffy fell to one knee and sucked in deep breaths as Faith edged forward.  As the brunette approached, Buffy moved into a hand stand; her feet arched back and wrapped themselves around Faith's neck.  Buffy whipped forward, the momentum sending Faith sailing across the training room.  Faith crashed into the floor; her breath gushed out in an audible groan.  The two women lay on the floor, panting, sweat sliding into their eyes.  Buffy stood and rubbed the bruise forming on her temple as Faith pushed off the floor, wiping a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth.     

            "Wow," Dawn breathed.  Her large brown eyes were flooded with awe.

            Giles stepped between the two Slayers.  He removed his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his t-shirt.  His gaze traveled between Buffy and Faith, quietly assessing the flushed faces and steely eyes.  Replacing his glasses, he said, "Well, I gather that you are ready to begin patrolling, Faith.  What do you think, Buffy?" 

            Buffy looked at Faith a moment longer before transferring her stare to Giles.  Her face was impassive, devoid of emotion.  "She's ready."  She glanced at Faith once more, then turned and walked towards the small couch on the far wall of the Magic Box.  Buffy grabbed a towel and a water bottle and headed for the exit.  She pushed open the door, pausing, the dazzling sunlight glinting off of her golden hair.  A soft sigh escaped her lips.  Shaking her head slightly, Buffy walked out of the training room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

*                      *                      *

            Night blanketed the Hellmouth.  Its dark embrace twinkled with small specks of starlight.  The midnight air was steamy; dew clung to blades of grass and covered the stone surfaces of the Sunnydale Rest Haven Cemetery.  Four walked quietly through the stillness and the silence.  One twice dead Slayer, one rebel turned Watcher, one rogue Slayer, and one Vengeance Demon.  Eyes and ears were trained on the shadows of the night, searching for the forces of darkness.  It was an unneeded pursuit since the darkness inevitably sought them.  

            Anya sighed and flipped her pale blonde hair over her shoulder.  "I'm bored."

            Buffy rolled her eyes.  "You didn't have to come."

            "Yes, I did.  I didn't want-"

            "Anya.  Don't."

            Anya turned towards Faith.  She arched an eyebrow at her new friend's request but remained silent.  She watched Buffy sigh, readjust her hold on her crossbow, and move ahead, next to Giles.  Once the blonde Slayer was out of earshot, Anya said, "See.  This is exactly why I didn't want you to patrol alone with her.  She becomes very elitist and superior."

            "I don't think it's her inner bitch coming out tonight."  Faith glanced around the cemetery, assessing the dilapidated tombs, crumbling headstones, and cracked stone statues.  "Something's just doesn't feel right.  Like the Hellmouth is getting ready to jump up and bite us all in the ass."

            "I know.  I feel it too."

            "I don't know.  Maybe I'm just on edge.  The fight with Buffy…"

            "What about it?"

            Faith sighed.  "It was strange.  Usually when I fought B it was to kill her, not to just fight.  This fighting with no killing… takes some getting used to.  I still felt the pull though.  You know, the pull to just let loose with some ripe rage and do some wicked damage."  She was silent for a moment.  A wisp of a smile appeared on her lips as she said, "But it wasn't as strong this time.  I fought it."  Her brown eyes drifted ahead and locked on Buffy.  The smile faded.  "Don't think it matters to her though."

            Anya followed Faith's line of sight.  She arched an eyebrow and said, "You care what she thinks of you?"

            Faith shrugged.  "Just forget it, ok."

            "No, I won't forget it.  But I won't say anything more tonight."  

            Faith flashed a small smile.  She ran a hand through her dark locks, her eyes piercing the shadows of the night.  There was no need to get into a conversation about feelings in a cemetery in Sunnydale in the middle of the night.  That was just asking for trouble.  

*                      *

            "I mean, did she even think about how I felt?  No.  All she wanted to see was a fight.  It didn't matter if I had to fight Faith, the one who tried to take over my life, my body, who has tried to kill me on more than one occasion.  And then, after seeing the fight, Dawn still complained because I wouldn't let her come patrolling with us."

            "Buffy, I think you're overreacting a bit."

            Buffy scowled at Giles for a moment before she rolled her eyes and sighed.  "I know.  I'm just… wigged.  Fighting Faith again just brought out all sorts of unpleasant, want-to-kill-you types of feelings.  I kept expecting her to go postal, but she didn't."

            "Maybe she has changed."

            Buffy pursed her lips.  "Maybe.  Or maybe not.  You never know with her.  And on top of worrying about Faith, not to mention her new bestest buddy relationship with Anya, Willow has gone back into magic and there's some kind of new threat wanting to be King of the Hellmouth.  I thought summer was supposed to be the time for rest and relaxation."

            "Rest?  On the Hellmouth-" Giles fell to the ground, victim to a blow to the back of his head.  His ax tumbled through the air, landing a few feet away.  He struggled to his feet and blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision.  "Bloody hell."

            Buffy spun.  They were surrounded by three vampires; in the distance she could see Faith and Anya fighting three more.  One vampire leapt towards Giles and tackled him to the ground, leaving Buffy with the remaining two vamps.  Buffy smiled and lifted her crossbow.  She aimed it at the two vampires and said, "Who's first?"

*                      *

            The vampire attack had come from behind.  The three evil undead had quickly separated Faith from Anya, with one vampire, a lithe female, attacking Anya and the other two, one the size of a linebacker and the other straight out of Nerdville, to deal with Faith.  A smirk appeared on her face.  She reached behind her back and pulled her stake from the waistband of her pants.  She twirled the stake in her fingers as she said, "Boys, boys, boys.  This is going to be fun."

            She tackled the small, nerdy vamp, knocking him against a large headstone.  Jumping up, she landed two kicks to his midsection before she lashed out, her stake plunging into his heart.  His dust sprinkled against the green earth as she was struck from behind by the linebacker vamp.  She tumbled against the headstone, breath exhaling in a whoosh.  Her mouth hardened as her foot arched back, connecting with the vamp's jaw, snapping it shut with an audible crack.  Springing onto the granite marker, she punched him twice and executed a brutal kick to his temple.  She moved to punch him again, but her hand was caught in midair; the vamp yanked on her arm, sending Faith sailing through the air and crashing into the ground.  She rolled to her knees, climbing to her feet as he charged.  She darted to the right and smashed her boot against the back of his head.  Faith pressed forward, sending a vicious punch to his kidneys.  Another hard kick to his back caused the vampire to collide against one of the cemetery's tombs.  She spun him around, pinning him against the wall with her hand on his throat.  She smirked again as her stake pierced his heart, turning him to dust beneath her fingers.  

*                      *

            Anya placed her hands on her hips and stared at the female vampire before her, one eyebrow raised in amusement.  She shook her head slowly as she said, "I doubt you want to fight me."

            The vampire smirked.  "Is that a fact?"

            "Yes."

            "I think I can handle myself against one human."

            A wicked grin spread across Anya's face.  "I'm sure you can."  The vampire charged.  Anya's grin widened as she teleported, causing the vampire to crash through the door of a tomb.  The vampire fell to the floor with a thud; the impact echoed throughout the tomb as Anya walked through the entrance.  She crossed her arms over her chest and said, "But I'm not a human."

            The female vamp scrambled to her feet, yellow eyes wide.  "You're a demon."

            "Yes.  A very astute observation on your part."

            "Why are you with the Slayer if you're a demon?"

            "Because a large majority of the demon world, such as yourself, is bland, boring, and very stupid.  Faith is not.  Are you ready to resume fighting?"

            The vampire rushed Anya.  The blonde vengeance demon kicked the girl; her boot collided harshly against the vampire's chest, sending her sprawling against the stone coffin.  Anya kicked again, but her foot crashed into the coffin as the vampire dodged, punching her twice in the face and knocking her to the floor.  Anya chuckled and said, "That was a mistake."  She sprang to her feet, her demon features appearing on her face.  Her hand lashed out and she grabbed the vampire by the throat, her fingers tightening against the cold flesh.  Anya tossed the vampire through the air.  She smashed into the coffin and crumpled to the floor.  Anya walked over to the broken door and grabbed a jagged piece of wood.  As the girl struggled to her feet, Anya hurled the chunk of wood across the tomb, stabbing the vampire in the heart.  She stared at the dispersing dust for a moment before turning and walking out of the tomb.

*                      *

            Giles and the vamp tumbled end over end across the cemetery.  They rolled to a stop with Giles on top.  He executed two hard jabs, his fist pounding against the vampire's face, before pushing off him.  Giles stumbled over to his ax and hefted it into his hands. 

            As Giles turned, the vampire groaned and sat up.  He noticed the ax in Giles' hands and said, "Aw, man.  Why do I always get the ones with weapon?"

            Giles sighed.  

            The vampire stood, brushing grass from his jeans.  "Look, man, can you just put the ax down?  It'll make it easier for both of us.  If you put it down, I'll kill you quick."

            "As tempting as your offer sounds, I rather like my ax.  I doubt I will be putting it down anytime soon."  

            "Have it your way then, old man."  

            The vampire moved to the right, his leg arching up and knocking Giles' ax to the side.  Giles spun in a circle, using the momentum of the block to swing the ax through the air, and chopped off the vampire's head.  The vampire crumbled to dust.  Giles sighed again and placed the ax over his shoulder, muttering, "Wanker."

*                      *

            The two vampires faced off against Buffy.  They glanced at the loaded crossbow, then at each other.  The one on the left, dressed in a hideous orange suit, pointed towards Buffy, indicating that his companion should charge her.  The vampire on the right shook his head and backed away a few steps.  The two vampires started to bicker over which one should attack the Slayer first.  Buffy rolled her eyes and cleared her throat.  "Um, I don't think arguing like school girls will accomplish anything except giving me a headache.  But I really think that's from your suit.  What in the hell were you thinking?  You look like a giant carrot."

            The vampire in the suit glanced down at his outfit.  "They say orange is the new fall color.  It's in style."

            Buffy pulled the trigger on the crossbow.  One bolt shot through the air and imbedded itself in the orange vampire's chest.  He exploded into a shower of orange dust as she said, "You should have stuck with black."  She shook her head and loaded the crossbow again.  Buffy looked for the second vampire, spotting him next to the woods bordering the cemetery; he glanced back at her as she shot the second bolt.  It pierced the tree next to the vampire; he turned and plunged into the forest.  Buffy slung the crossbow over her shoulder and sprinted towards the woods.  She pulled her stake from the waistband of her pants and entered the dense trees.  Branches whipped against her face as she ran; she could hear the vampire crashing through the woods ahead of her.  She burst out of the trees into a moonlit clearing.  Buffy saw the vampire charging across the field towards two figures hidden in the shadows of the trees.  She grabbed her crossbow, loaded it, and fired, sending a bolt shooting across the field.  It struck the vampire, knocking him to the ground where he exploded into dust.  

            Buffy dropped the crossbow onto the ground and stepped into the clearing.  Her hazel eyes focused on the pair in the shadows; she heard the sounds of fighting.  She took a couple of steps forward when the two figures tumbled out of the shadows into the moonlight.  One was a heavyset vampire, dressed in camouflage.  The other was in a faded black shirt and jeans; his hair was mussed, streaked with ash and platinum blonde.

            Buffy's eyes widened as she whispered, "Spike…"

            She watched as Spike punched the vampire and kicked him in the gut.  His left hand slammed against the vampire's chest, ramming a stake into his heart.  The vamp burst into dust.  Spike slid the stake back into the pocket of his shirt and brushed the remains off of his pants.  He froze, slowly turning his head until he locked eyes with Buffy.  Her heart pounded inside her chest, sending her blood rushing through her veins.  They looked at each other in the cool moonlight, drinking in their mutual visions.  The world stilled around them, the sounds of the night faded, the sultry summer air slid between them on the leisurely winds.

            "Buffy!"

            Buffy started.  She blinked once, then twice.  She heard Giles call her name again.  She looked at Spike.  He glanced between her and the woods behind her.  He locked eyes with her again before moving backwards and melting into the shadows.  He disappeared into the forest when Giles, Faith, and Anya burst into the clearing.  Buffy stared across the field, oblivious to the world, focused on shadows.

            Giles placed a hand on her arm.  "Buffy, are you alright?"

            Buffy blinked again, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face.  "Yeah.  I'm fine.  Are we ready to go?"  

            Giles nodded.  He picked up her crossbow and handed it to Buffy.  

            She smiled again and placed the weapon against her shoulder.  She followed Anya, Faith, and Giles back into the forest, stopping at the tree line and turning her head to look once more across the clearing.  Buffy drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  She tore her gaze from the field and entered the forest.

*                      *                      *


	11. Drowning in Darkness

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, WB, UPN, etc.  I use them for entertainment purposes only.

AN: All quotes, _Enemies, Graduation Day 2, Villains, Two to Go, Grave, taken from BtVS not taken from memory were provided by Psyche's Transcripts.  Many, many thanks go out to the people who review each chapter.  I appreciate every one.  So keep them coming!   _

Chapter Eleven: Drowning in Darkness

By: Wynn

            The room was small.  It contained a soft twin bed, a nightstand with a gold lamp, and a plaid armchair.  One window faced the lush pasture of the English countryside, but the plains were covered by cream colored window shades.  Willow sat on the bed, feet drawn up underneath her, eyes closed.  She breathed deeply, attempting to clear her mind of her jumbled thoughts of the events of the past few weeks.  The coven in Devon had performed a binding spell on her magical abilities as soon as she and Xander had arrived in England.  She felt empty inside.  The connection that she had magically forged with the world around her, with higher realms of power and other planes of existence, had been severed, leaving her cold and hollow.

            _'Bored now.'_

            Her eyes shot open.  She shook her head slightly and sighed.  The tenuous hold she had had on her memories crumbled.  She stood and walked over to the window, pulling back on the shade and peering into the night.  She wished Xander was here.  He stayed by her side after the binding spell, encouraging her in her efforts to heal and in her lessons from the coven, just listening and supporting her.  She wanted to talk to someone, to distract herself from the pain of the past, but he had gone back to his room in desperate need of sleep.  A glimmer of tears appeared in her eyes.  It was probably for the best that Xander was asleep.  She didn't want him to see what she had become.  She didn't want him to know she wasn't Willow anymore.

            Bright light flooded the room, causing Willow to cover her eyes.  She backed into the corner of the room as the glow gradually faded.  She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, the room coming back into focus.  Her eyes were drawn to the armchair and to the woman lounging in it.

            "Cordelia?"

            "The one and only."   Cordelia shifted in the chair, her long brunette hair swinging over her shoulder; she wore a white silk dress and a pair of sandals.  A broad grin crossed her face as she said, "How ya doing, Willow?"

            "H-how did you get here?  Am I, uh, hallucinating?"  

            "No hallucinations this time.  Just trans-dimensional travel.  It's sort of like teleporting, only prettier."

            Willow nodded slowly as she slumped next to the wall.  She closed her eyes and muttered, "Oh, of course, trans-dimensional travel.  Should've known.  Only I didn't 'cause I'm definitely hallucinating here.  Crazy and evil now.  Wonderful."

            Cordelia rolled her eyes.  "You're not nuts.  Not yet anyway.  Trans-dimensional travel is a perk of being a higher being." 

            Willow cracked one eye open.  "You're a higher being?"

            "Yeah.  I was a half-demon first which, let me tell you, was *pretty* interesting, but the Powers of Vague wanted me elsewhere."

            "Elsewhere?" 

            "Are you repeato girl or something?  Yes, elsewhere, as in here.  I'm here to help you."

            Willow smirked, a wry and bitter twisting of her lips.  "No one can help me."

            Cordelia was silent as she looked at Willow, her dark brown eyes taking in the pale complexion, dark circles, limp hair, and shallow lines surrounding her eyes and mouth.  She stood and moved next to Willow.  Crouching in front of the redhead, she murmured, "You're worse than I thought.  What the hell did you get yourself into?"

            Willow turned her head from the brunette's steady gaze; she fixed her eyes on the cream curtains and picked at the ragged nails on her hands.  After a few moments, she whispered, "Magic."

            "Magic doesn't do this.  Not if you use it right."

            "I didn't."

            "I know."  Cordelia shook her head as a shudder ran over her body.  "You got into something bad.  You opened the floodgates to primal forces and now you're drowning in darkness.  You don't know how to be whole again.  Not without the magic."

            Willow eyed Cordelia.  "Since when did you turn into a font of compassion and actually care about others besides yourself?"

            Cordelia tilted her head to the side.  She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and said, "They thought she would help you.  But it was already too deep within you."  She leaned forward and placed her hands on Willow's wrists.  The deep brown of her eyes swirled and melted into pure, glowing white.  The window burst open, curtains billowing in the fierce wind as Cordelia said, "That's where I come in."

            The edges of Cordelia's eyes glowed faintly, a glimmer that slowly drifted across her face and down her body, to the tips of her fingers and into Willow.  The glow traveled the length of Willow's arms, washing over her chest and neck, delving into the depths of her eyes.  Willow screamed as light poured into her and surrounded her, filling the small room, banishing the lingering shadows.  

            Cordelia placed one hand across Willow's chest, covering her heart.  "It's poison.  And you let it inside you, let it consume you."

            Willow gasped.  "What-what are you doing to me?"

            "Letting you feel."

            The wind howled as the light flashed, blinding, burning inside of Willow.  She crumpled against Cordelia, haunting, mournful sobs wrenched from her lips.  Visions flashed into her mind.  The shredding sound of Warren's skin being ripped from his body.  The dull thud of Tara's body hitting the floor, cold and lifeless.  The piercing scream echoing from her lips in the abandoned prison cell.  The terror and panic on Dawn's face.  The ecstasy flooding through her as she sucked the life out of Giles.  

            _'I love you.'_

_            '__Willow__ doesn't live here anymore.'_

_            'I have to say skinning a man alive, nice work.  Very evil.'_

_            'Let me tell you something about __Willow__.  She's a loser.'_

_            'They love you like I love you.  Forever and always.'_

            Darkness blanketed the room, covering Cordelia, Willow, and the harsh, wretched sobs of grief.

*                      *                      *

            Four days.  Four days had passed since Spike had appeared in the middle of the moonlit clearing, tumbling into the light in a flurry of fists and a shower of vamp dust.  Four days had passed since Spike had disappeared from the moonlit clearing without a trace, fading back into the night, leaving her with one last look, one last glance of vivid blue.  In four days he could have traveled anywhere.  Yet Buffy knew he was still in Sunnydale.  She could feel it.  She could feel **him.  His presence nipped at the edge of her mind, dancing in and out of her consciousness, a constant hum of awareness burning within her.  After four days of nipping, dancing, humming, and burning, Buffy had grabbed her stake, walked out of her house, and slammed the door behind her.**

            Four days of waiting were four too many.  His time was up.

            She gazed at his crypt, taking in the crooked door and low stone overhang.  Ivy stretched along its walls; it curled around the door frame and stretched along the roofline, delicate shocks of green against the cool grey of stone.  She shifted the stake in her hand and approached the door.  Barely breathing, she leaned her ear against the rough wood grain and listened.  A small smile curled the corners of her lips as the sounds of movement within the crypt drifted to her ear.  He was here.  Excellent.

            Buffy grasped the knob and opened the door.  She slowly walked inside, twirling the stake in her hand, hazel eyes casually drifting over the small television, tattered armchair, and rusted refrigerator before resting on him.  One corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she said, "Hi Clem."

            Clem glanced at her, shuffling a bit.  His hand lifted in a small wave before he shoved them into the pockets of his pants.  "Hi, Buffy.  What, um, I mean, why are you here?  Not that I don't want you to be here, or that you're not welcome to be here because you are.  Both you and Dawn are always welcome here.  But what I mean is, uh, why are you here?"

            Buffy's smirk widened into a grin as she searched the interior of the crypt, her eyes finally returning to Clem.  "I was looking for Spike.  Have you seen him?"

            "Spike?  No, I-I haven't seen Spike yet.  No.  I mean, is he back in town?  When did he get back?"

            Buffy tilted her head to the side and regarded Clem.  A minute passed, then another with no movement, no sound, just watching.  She moved towards him, hips swaying as she sauntered across the crypt.  "Let me take a wild guess here.  A few days ago there's a knock on the door.  You open it and find Spike.  He looks a little different, less platinum, more dirty blonde, but still dressed in black.  You invite him in, chat a bit about the weather, things like that, when Spike tells you that you can have the crypt.  That he's found a new place to stay."  She stopped in front of Clem and folded her arms across her chest; her hazel eyes were intent on his face.  "Am I right?"

            Head dropping slightly, Clem whispered, "Yes."  

            "He probably asked you not to say anything to me, right?"

            "No, not exactly… well, yeah.  He did."

            Buffy nodded her head.  She backed away from him and slumped into one of the threadbare chairs, sighing softly.  Her eyes traveled over the crypt, over the chair that Spike used to sit in to watch Passions, over the coffin he used to sleep on, over the hundreds of half-melted candles that had cast a warm glow across the cold, crypt interior, across the cool planes of his body.  She looked down at her hands, eyes cloudy with emotion.

            Clem stared at Buffy for a moment before he walked towards the chair.  Crouching next to it, he said, "He didn't tell me where he was staying exactly.  He just said that it was somewhere on the east side of town."

            Buffy raised her head and locked eyes with Clem.  "Thank you."

            "You're welcome.  Just don't tell him I told you, Ok.  Good friends are hard to find in this town."

            Buffy flashed him a small smile.  "I won't say a word."  She pushed off of the chair and placed the stake in the back pocket of her jeans.  Moving towards the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder at Clem.  "How was he?"

            "Quiet."  His eyes traveled the length of her back to her stake.  "Are you going to hurt him?"

            She looked at him; her eyes were shrouded in darkness.  A ghost of a smile passed over her face, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.  She was silent as she turned back and walked to the door.  She laid her hand on the knob and said, "Thank you again, Clem."  Buffy stepped over the threshold, into the cemetery, and closed the door behind her.

*                      *

            Nothing had changed.  Four years had passed since she last set foot in the abandoned mansion on Crawford St., but it remained the same.  The stillness, the silence that permeated the imposing three stories took her back in time.  Back to a time when Angel was her past, present, and future; when Faith was her enemy; when her mom was still alive.  When Willow was her best friend, and Giles was her Watcher, and Spike was a distant memory, halfway around the world, torturing Drusilla to love him again.  A lifetime has passed since then.  People had come and gone, apocalypses had been averted, and she had died.  Yet for all of the changes, much remained the same.  Giles was still her Watcher.  Xander and Willow were still her best friends.  And she was still involved with a vampire, albeit a blonde, chipped, abrasive, cocky, passionate, conflicted vampire instead of a brunette, soulful, tortured, brooding, intense, conflicted vampire.    

            Buffy sucked in a deep breath and approached the entrance.  The door was open; trash was strewn throughout the hallway, nestled amid piles of crumbling leaves.  Cobwebs stretched across the ceiling.  Her hazel gaze traveled the length of the hall, searching for signs of recent activity, signs of Spike, and finding none.  Yet she stepped into the hall and moved deeper into the house.  Her heart pounded, blood screaming through her veins, as she made her way down the cold,  stifling walkway and entered the large ballroom of the mansion.  The scorched mark where Angel had reappeared was still burned into the tile floor, and she could see the courtyard through the archway, its fountain filled with dirty water and debris.  

            _'You still my girl?'  'Always.'_

_            She had thought she would be his forever.  They had survived prophecies of death, the end of the world, and hundreds of years in hell, only to crumble under the pressure of perfect happiness.  She shivered as she backed into the hallway, arms drawn across her chest. _

            _'What are you going to do, B?  Kill me?  You become me.  You're not ready for that yet.'_

_            So many betrayals had occurred within these barren walls.  So much pain.  Lives had been flipped upside down, turned inside out, and utterly destroyed.  Buffy continued down the hall, stopping in front of the main room.  The stone fireplace was barren, black ash coating the granite, brittle twigs and kindling crumbled on the floor.  The broken remains of the coffee table covered the room.  _

            _'Drink.  Drink me.'_

            Her fingertips grazed the faded scar on her neck, grimacing at the jagged line of flesh.  It was a mark of the ultimate pleasure and the ultimate pain.

            _'It hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought it would.'_

_            Buffy stiffened.  The fleeting images of her Slayer dream flashed through her mind.  William and his poetry… the dark, shadow filled cave… the green eyed monster… Faith straddling Spike, stake pressed hard into his chest… a crumbling house between dense woods and the Sunnydale Rest Haven Cemetery.  Buffy stumbled out of the room and crashed against the wall of the hallway.  Spike's return had been prophesized in her dream.  Why?  She closed her eyes a moment and drew in a deep breath before sprinting out of the mansion.  Her golden hair whipped behind her as she streaked across the empty streets of Sunnydale to confront the vampire from her dreams.__        _

*                      *

            The two story house sat amide a grove of elm and oak trees.  Its grey paint was peeling, flaking off in large chunks, and the windows were covered with pieces of plywood.  A wraparound porch circled the house; a pair of wicker rocking chairs sat in front of the boarded bay window.  Buffy edged around the rundown residence.  The back of the house resembled the front with peeling paint and covered windows.  Hidden in the shadows, Buffy saw a metal trash can.  She walked towards it and lifted the lid; the inside was full of garbage, moldy food, torn scraps of fabric, old newspapers.  She replaced the lid, moved next to the back door, and gently turned the knob.  Buffy slipped inside the house, easing the door shut behind her.

            The kitchen was dark.  A small formica table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by three vinyl chairs.  Buffy ran her fingers over the countertops; they were clean, and the sink was full of dishes.  A ray of light peeked into the room from under a set of swinging doors.  She moved to the door, pressing on the heavy wood until it cracked open.  A narrow hall lay outside the doors.  She could see the front entrance directly ahead of her.  At the end of the hall, light streamed out of the room on the right.  Buffy stepped into the hall and made her way towards the light, body sliding along the wall.  She paused at the opening to the room and closed her eyes.  She could feel him inside the room.  Her heart thudded in her chest, pounded in her ears so loud she knew he could hear it.  Sucking in a shaky breath, she craned her head around the doorframe and peeked inside the room.

            He sat in a plush armchair.  The chair faced a marble fireplace, its crackling fire casting a warm glow across the living room.  A low glass table sat in front of the fireplace; a black mug perched on the corner of the table.  Light from a floor lamp behind the chair shone down on his streaked, curled hair and glinted off the small silver glasses perched on his nose.  He shifted in the chair and thumbed through the slim book in his hands.  He wore a black button up shirt and a pair of loose black pants.  His feet were bare.  

            Buffy leaned back against the wall, trying to slow her racing heart, and wiped the palms of her hands on her jeans.  She stepped into the doorway, crossed her arms over her chest, hazel eyes locked on the slumped form in the armchair, and said, "Hello Spike."

*                      *                      *


	12. Friends Enemies

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer do not belong to me.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc. own them.  They are used for entertainment purposes only, not profit.

AN: Many thanks go out to my beta, SpikeLover7.  She diligently answers all of my questions, for which I am very grateful.  Reviews are wonderful things, especially for this chapter, so please leave one.  

Chapter Twelve: Friends… Enemies

By: Wynn

            She was here, standing in his house, staring at him with her wide hazel eyes.  He glanced at the doorway.  She stood at the threshold, slender arms folded delicately across her chest.  Her hair hung in soft, glossy waves down to her shoulders, and she wore a pair of jeans and a navy, one shouldered top.  Spike drew in a deep breath and tore his gaze away from his Slayer.  She had sought him out, tracked him down.  No one knew where he was living now, not even Angel, yet she still managed to find him.  For four days he had wondered if she would come and barge into the house, eyes blazing with anger, and throw him out of her town and out of her life.  Or if she would just stake him on sight, no questions asked.  He hadn't expected her to slip in unnoticed through the back door, calm and composed.  

            He looked at her again.  She hadn't moved.  He stood and stepped away from the chair, in front of the fire, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.  "Buffy."

            She blinked, her gaze sliding down to the book clutched in his hands.  "What are you reading?"

            "What?  Oh."  Spike turned the volume of poetry over in his hands, running a finger along its spine.  It was his gift from Angel, his solace when the past tried to engulf him, drown him in his ever present guilt.  "It's, uh, poetry.  William Wordsworth.  _Tintern Abbey."_

            Buffy walked forward into the room, uncrossing her arms.  She locked eyes with him again and said, "Would you read part of it to me?"      

            He stared at her for a moment.  Her head was tilted slightly, a lock of golden hair falling across her face.  Her eyes, green and gold and blue, glowed from the firelight.  Spike swallowed and lifted the creased book, thumbing through the pages until he came to _Tintern Abbey.  He licked his lips again and began to read._

            "'…That serene and blessed mood,

            In which the affections gently lead us on,

            Until, the breath of this corporeal frame

            And even the motion of our human blood

            Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

            In body, and become a living soul:

            While with an eye made quiet by the power

            Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

            We see into the life of things.'"

            A faint smile crossed her face as she moved further into the room.  "I remember reading this in my English class in college.  I liked it.  I wish I could have read more poetry."  Buffy met his gaze.  She pointed towards his face and said, "When did you start wearing glasses?"

            Spike's hand snatched the metal frames off of his face.  He had forgotten he had them on.  "Um, a while ago."  Like one hundred and thirty years ago, to be precise.  He placed the book and glasses on the low glass table.  "Buffy, what-"

            "Why did you come back?"

            Spike's eyes widened, struck by her words.  He mentally chastised himself for expecting more than a cold confrontation from Buffy, especially after what he had done to her.  He ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair and edged behind the armchair, sliding into the shadows in the corner of the room.  "I-"

            Buffy surged forward, arm outstretched.  "No!  I didn't mean it like that.  Like you shouldn't have come back.  It's just… after everything… I thought you would want to stay as far away from Sunnydale, and from me, as possible."

            "What?  Why would you think that?"

            Buffy sighed.  She moved away from him and paced the length of the room, fingers fidgeting.  "I- You loved me, and all it got you was pain.  From me and from you.  Loving me brought out the worst in you last year.  I brought out the worst in you.  Who would want to come back to that?"

            Spike's mouth dropped open.  He took a few hesitant steps from the shadows.  Buffy had retreated to the doorway, her eyes locked on the fire, glistening with unshed tears.  He stepped around the glass table and moved closer to her.  "Buffy, loving you brought out anything that was worthwhile in me, the parts of me that hadn't been… affected by the demon.  You brought out what was left of the man inside me."  He paused, sighing softly.  It was now or never.  No more running could be done, no more hiding.  The time had come.  "I came back to Sunnydale because of you.  I know it's never going to be enough, but I wanted to try to apologize for… for hurting you.  I never wanted to hurt you, but I did.  I'm sorry, Buffy."

            A stray tear slid across her cheek.  "Me, too.  Last year… I did stuff I'm not proud of.  And I hurt a lot of people.  Including you.  I'm sorry."

            They faced each other in the firelight, past sins laid out between them like fractured china, deceptively innocuous yet vicious and razor-sharp.  A few simple, sincere words had swept them all away, allowing for a new beginning from residual pain.  

            Buffy rubbed a hand across her cheek, wiping at the tear, a small smile curving her lips.  She glanced at Spike from the corners of her eyes.  "Are you staying?"

            "Yeah."

            She bit the corner of her lip and said, "Maybe… we could be friends, or something.  If you want to, that is."       

            "I would like that."

            Silence surrounded them again, intermingled with the unspoken acknowledgement that the past was forgiven, not forgotten, and both would try for a better future.  Buffy smiled again.  "Good.  Maybe I could stop by in a few days.  Make you read me some more poetry."

            Spike regarded her for a few seconds.  "Are you sure?  Because, you don't have to Buffy.  I'll-"

            "I want to."

            Spike nodded.  "Ok, then.  Might have to skip the poetry though.  A game of rummy maybe.  Less embarrassing."

            "Ok.  I, uh, have to go now."  She rolled her eyes, an amused gleam shining through the sarcasm.  "Dawn drug Giles out to the movies.  No telling what she made him see."  

            A faint grin crossed Spike's face.  "She likes the strange movies."

            "Yeah.  Giles'll probably need a week to recover."  She glanced behind her towards the door then faced Spike again.  She took in his appearance, hazel eyes sliding from head to toe.  She shook her head softly.

            Spike raised an eyebrow.  "What?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "You… look the same.  The glasses… the hair… all black."

            "Buffy, you haven't seen-"

            "No, not in Sunnydale.  In my dream."  She paused, flashing him a brief smile.  "Bye, Spike."  Buffy turned and left the room, slipping out of the house, before he could think of anything to say.

*                      *                      *

            "Pass the popcorn."

            "There isn't any left."

            "You ate it all?"

            Anya rolled her eyes and pointed towards Faith.  "No, *you* ate it all.  And you ate the cookies.  And the chips, too."

            The two women were in Anya's apartment, surrounded by empty bowls of junk food, music blaring from the stereo.  Faith looked at the empty bowls and shrugged.  "Guess I'm still craving food with taste.  Prison food's like watered down cardboard."

            "Sounds… yummy."

            "Not really."  Faith drew her leg up on the couch and set her chin on her knee.  "Could've been worse.  Stale bread and shitty water.  Or nothing at all."  She drifted into silence, her years in jail replaying through her head.  Constant threats, other women wanting to try their luck against the strong one, the silent one, the loner; suspicious glances from the guards, waiting for her to loose her cool and lash out; quiet nights filled with memories of hatred and rage, cries of pain and anguish.  She would never go back.  Ever.  

            Her stomach rumblings brought Faith back from her thoughts.  Rubbing a hand across her belly, she looked at Anya and said, "You got any of those pizza rolls?"

            "Yeah.  Xander used to eat them."  Anya sat on the couch for a moment, a distant expression on her face, golden-brown eyes lost in memories, before standing and walking into the kitchen.

            Faith followed her.  She watched Anya dig through the freezer and yank out a frost covered box of pizza rolls.  Taking a few small steps into the kitchen, Faith said, "Look, Anya, I wanted to, you know, say thanks.  For letting me crash at your place and everything."  Her gaze traveled around the room, restless and nervous, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans.  "I- They all hate me, especially Xander, and-"

            Anya held up her hand.  "Right now, I don't give a fig's ass what any of them think.  Especially Xander.  I asked you to stay here because you're my friend.  Not because they hate you or because I want to make them angry by harboring the Slayer that tried to kill them.  You're my friend, and you didn't have anywhere else to go."  Anya lifted the box of pizza rolls, ripped open the thawing cardboard, and tossed the frozen snacks into the microwave.  She set the timer and turned back towards Faith.

            Faith stared at Anya, dark eyes assessing her friend.  After a minute, she nodded, then moved next to the cabinets and pulled out a clean plate.  Setting the dish next to the microwave, Faith said, "I talked to Angel yesterday.  Connor came back."

            "Did he try to kill Angel again?"

            "No.  Apologized for dumping him in the ocean and explained about a scheme between some Slayer wannabe and an old guy that wanted revenge."  Faith opened the door to the microwave and dumped the sizzling pizza rolls onto the plate.  "Angel still took the kid in.  First Spike, then me, now Connor.  Guy's looking to be killed."

            "Did he say anything about Spike?"

            "Nope.  Think he's still in L.A.?"

            Anya reached for a roll, biting carefully into one steaming end.  "Maybe."

            Faith arched an eyebrow.  "What is it?"

            "There's something… different about Spike.  I'm not sure what exactly, but something's different."  Anya shrugged and grabbed the plate of pizza rolls.  She walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, placing the plate on the coffee table.  "Did he appear different to you?"

            "Not really."  Faith picked through the pizza rolls, collecting a few in her hands, and sat back on the couch.  "But I don't know him too well.  It's mostly been crude suggestions and threats between us.  The fun stuff."

            "You do know he's in love with Buffy?"

            "Get out.  Blondie has a thing for B?"  Faith chuckled at the thought of Buffy involved with another vampire and Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, in love with one.  "Got to hand it to her.  She's got good taste in men.  Well, in vampires at least."  Faith and Anya glanced at each other and burst into laughter.  Poor Riley.  He never stood a chance.        

*                      *                      *

            The door to the long hall opened, and the six people composing the Inner Circle filed into the room.  The stone fireplace and gold chandelier lit the luxuriously furnished interior, highlighting the rich wood surfaces and plush carpet.  

            The man set his briefcase on the table and watched the others file into position around the table.  He turned towards the man on his left, eyebrows lifted in disdain.  "Well, you're troupe of vampires failed.  The Slayer dispatched of them without even breaking a sweat.  At our last gathering, you showed your ignorance and lack of preparation through your significant lapse in knowledge concerning the vampire William the Bloody.  And now this…"

            The second man licked his lips.  "Sir, the vampires were not expected to succeed.  They-"

            "No, they were not expected to succeed.  But they were expected to last more than a few seconds."  He sighed and turned towards his second-in-command sitting to his right.  "What is the status of William the Bloody?"

            The woman dug through her briefcase and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper.  She handed it to him and said, "We know he's back in Sunnydale.  However, he did not return to his crypt, and our sources haven't been able to ascertain where he is living now.  It's only a matter of time before we know."

            The man nodded.  He slipped the piece of paper into his briefcase as he said, "What about the Larouse demons?  Are they ready to proceed?"

            "Yes."

            "Good."  He glanced across the table at the man lounging in his chair.  "And what is your opinion concerning the Larouse demons?"

            Straightening in his chair, the man smirked and said, "They'll fail.  The Slayer will probably kill them as quickly as she did the vampires."  

            "Yes, I suppose she will.  But this allows for the situation brewing in Sunnydale to come to a head, so I have decided to continue with the previously arranged plan."  He looked around the table, hard eyes drifting from one face to another.  "Everything is proceeding according to plan.  It is only a matter of time before the Slayer and her cohorts are dead."

*                      *                      *


	13. Silent Observers

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc. own them.  I borrow them for fun, not for profit.

AN: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this fic.  Each and everyone mean a lot to me.  And thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta, for your dedication to this extremely long fic.  I appreciate all of your time and energy put into this fic.  

Chapter Thirteen: Silent Observers

By: Wynn

            The night air was crisp and cool, a welcome departure from the stifling heat and humidity of the past month.  Buffy drew her hooded sweatshirt around her as she stepped out of Mossino's and onto the sidewalk.  She had worked for the past five hours, teaching various groups of men, women, and children the basics of self defense.  Her patience was thin and her muscles were sore; all she wanted was to be in a luxurious hot bath surrounded by scented candles with-

            "Buffy!"

            Sighing, Buffy turned back towards Mossino's.  She saw Tyler standing next to the glass doors, a piece of paper dangling from his right hand.  She smothered a frown and said, "Yeah?"

            He moved closer towards her and extended his hand, fluttering the paper at her.  "Paycheck.  Figure you'd want it."

            Buffy's brows drew together.  "I thought I didn't get paid until tomorrow."

            "I got some stuff I need to do tomorrow, so I won't be in to give this to you."  Tyler ran a hand over his short black hair and walked back towards the building.  "Of course, if you want to wait for your money, I can always-"

            "Give."

            Tyler smirked and passed the paycheck to Buffy.  He stared at her for a moment, grey eyes burning into her with fierce intensity, before he smirked again.  "I got to admit it, honey, you're doing a mighty fine job.  You weren't lying when you said you knew what you were doing."

            Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Still wondering how I was able to beat you so fast?"

            "Yeah."

            One corner of her mouth quirked up as she folded the paycheck and slipped it into her coat pocket.  "Trade secret.  Goonight, Tyler."  Buffy pivoted on her heel and continued down the sidewalk, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head.  She felt Tyler's hand on her arm and stopped again, jaw clenched in frustration.

            "Wait!  What's the rush?"  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black pants as she turned towards him.  His eyes were sparkling with mischief.  "Am I that repulsive?"

            A small smile curved Buffy's lips.  She folded her arms across her chest and said, "No.  You're only slightly repulsive."

            "Thank you."

            Buffy drew in a deep breath and forced her jaw to relax.  Being rude to the boss was not of the good, especially if one wanted to be paid again.  "My sister's waiting for me to get home so I can beat the crap out of her."

            "What?"

            Buffy laughed at his confusion.  "I'm training her how to fight.  It's only basic sparring now.  I thought I'd wait another week or two before we broke out the weapons."

            Tyler narrowed his eyes at her.  "Weapons?"

            "Weapons.  You know, crossbows, swords, stuff like that."  She grinned at him as she felt a slow tingle spread through her stomach.  Buffy straightened, her blood beginning to pound through her veins, and searched the shadows enveloping the surrounding buildings.  Her eyes strained to pierce the darkness but failed to discern anything in the murky black.    

            "Something wrong?"

            Buffy's head whipped back towards Tyler.  She had forgotten he was standing with her.  "What?  Oh, no, nothing's wrong.  Just thought I heard something."  She shrugged and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.  "Must have been the wind.  Um, what were you saying before the, uh, wind?"

            Tyler glanced at her and raised one eyebrow slightly.  After a few seconds, he said, "I asked if your sister was as strong as you are."

            Buffy shook her head.  "No.  Only one freakishly strong tiny person in the family.  She didn't eat her Wheaties as a kid."

            "So… only your sister waiting for you at home?  No boyfriend?"

            Buffy remained silent.  Her gaze flickered from Tyler to the shadows and back again.  "Not really.  My sister's waiting for me.  Goodnight, Tyler."  With a small wave, she turned and walked down the bare sidewalk.  She reached the end of the block and rounded the corner, disappearing behind the building.

*                      *                      *

            He watched her glance towards him, then back at the lug standing before her.  Her murmured goodbye drifted on the cool winds, softly swirling around him, as he leaned back against the rough brick wall.  His eyes followed her as she sauntered down the street and vanished into the night.  

            Spike sighed, attempting to stifle the jealously flaring within him.  There was no reason to be jealous.  Buffy was his friend.  He was Buffy's friend.  Nothing more.  After all, they had only seen each other a few times over the past three weeks.  She had always arrived after sunset, knocking softly on the front door.  They would sit on the porch and talk.  Talk about poetry, about the nasties roaming the Hellmouth, about Spike refurbishing the old farmhouse.  She hadn't mentioned anything about a tall, massive, black haired lump of flesh named Tyler.

            His gaze snapped back to the mirrored building.  The lug was locking the door; he placed his keys within a brown messenger bag slung across his chest and looked around the street.  Spike could sense his heart beating quickly, adrenaline flooding his system.  He watched Tyler glance down the street in the direction Buffy had traveled, wipe the palms of his hands on his pants, and head in the opposite way.  

            Spike frowned at the boy's nervousness.  He emerged from the shadows and followed Tyler, keeping close to the buildings.  As long as the boy was traveling in the same direction as Spike, a little recon wouldn't hurt.  Especially if this guy was involved in Buffy's life.  The lug turned down a side street and headed into the gloomy alleyways of Sunnydale; he looked behind him a few times but never stopped.  He exited the alley and walked down a vacant road, sparsely lit by street lamps, and dotted with rusted, windowless cars.  Tyler halted in front of a massive brick house and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a tiny scrap of paper.  He glanced from the paper to the building and shoved the scrap into one pocket of his pants.  Sighing softly, he peered at the darkened windows and gothic stonework before moving to the tiny side alley stretching alongside the building and walked to the back of the house.  

            Spike heard the sound of a door opening.  A mumbled conversation followed and then the door slammed shut.  He waited, covered by the darkness of the night, senses trained on the oppressive house for any sign of life.  After five minutes, the blonde searched for the street number of the brick building, eventually spotting a small brass sign with an elegantly carved 2403 upon it above the pale blue door.  2403 Mulholland Rd.  Spike stared at the house, mind swirling with jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity.  He drew in a deep, shaky breath and ran his hand over his light brown curls.  They were just friends.  He had no reason to be following one of her… acquaintances.  They were only friends.

            Yeah.  Like her and Angel were just friends.  Spike looked at the building once more before slipping back into the shadows and continuing to his original destination.

*                      *                      *

            Spike walked into the dark and smoky interior of the Bronze.  The strobe lights and colored lasers flashed in time with the pulsing and sensual beat of the music; the club was half-filled, some people venturing onto the dance floor while others crowded around the pool tables.  He maneuvered through the patrons and approached the bar.  Sliding onto one of the stools, he signaled for the bartender.  A tall man with long red hair slicked back into a ponytail sauntered over, a white towel grasped loosely in his hands.  His eyes, suspicious and cautious, scanned Spike as he placed a thin paper coaster in front of the vampire.

            "I don't want a drink," Spike said.  He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and removed a torn shred of newspaper.  Handing the paper to the bartender, Spike continued, "I'm looking for Smith."

            The bartender smirked.  His eyes inspected Spike again.  He handed the paper back to the blonde and pointed to a small room adjacent to the bar.  Spike glanced at the room, noticing a beam of light escaping from the closed door.  Nodding his thanks, he jumped off of the stool and moved to the door.  He knocked once, opened the door, and entered the small room.  A muted glow illuminated the room from a series of circular lights on the ceiling.  A woman with long silver hair sat behind a battered metal desk; a stack of papers were balanced precariously in front of her, and a sleek laptop resided on the corner of the desk.  She looked up as Spike shut the door behind him and smiled.  

            "Hello, William."

            Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at the woman.  She stood and edged around the desk; she wore strapless silver top and a silk cerulean skirt.  Her eyes were large and violet.  Spike looked down at the paper in his hand, then at the tiny woman before him.  "I'm, uh, looking for Smith.  The large, mute bloke behind the bar pointed to this room."

            The woman smiled again.  "I'm Smith.  Emilia Smith.  I assume you're here about the job opportunity, William."

            "Why do you keep calling me William?  I haven't told you my name yet."

            Tilting her head to the side, Emilia said, "Would you prefer Spike?  Neither Spike nor William is quite appropriate now, are they?"

            A stony mask descended onto Spike's face.  He backed towards the closed door and said, "Well, Emilia, it's been swell but if you don't mind, I'll be going now."  His hand groped for the doorknob and he stiffened when Emilia walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  She gently moved him into a dented metal folding chair and resumed her seat behind the desk.  

            "I didn't mean to frighten you-"

            "You didn't."

            "Most are alarmed upon first meeting me.  I have… a tendency to speak without thinking.  And in my case, that isn't always such a good thing."

            "And why exactly is that, luv?"

            Emilia sighed and leaned across the desk.  Her large, violet eyes gazed into Spike's turbulent blue as she said, "They aren't just a pretty color.  I can see the essence… the aura of a person.  I can see souls, if you prefer.  And I have some ability in telepathy."  She grinned at Spike.  "Don't worry.  I haven't used it on you yet."

            Spike shifted on the cold metal of the folding chair and tore his gaze away from Emilia.  Her stare was disconcerting; he felt as though he was laid bare before her, all of his secrets and sins exposed in one penetrating glance of violet.  He licked his lips and breathed deeply.  "What are you?  And why are you here in Sunnydale?"

            "I'm an Elf."

            Spike snorted.  "Elves don't exist anymore.  They disappeared from this dimension around the time of the Crusades."

            Emilia smiled.  "Are you always so certain about everything?  You are partially correct.  Most Elves left this dimension a millennia ago.  But some remain.  We have merged with humanity and become a part of it."

            "What the hell is an Elf doing in Sunnydale?"

            "What better place for a supernatural being than the Hellmouth.  I own the Bronze."

            Spike narrowed his eyes.  "*You* own the Bronze?"

            "Yes."

            Spike laughed, the harsh sound echoing in the tiny room.  "Well, isn't this rich.  An Elf owns the Bronze.  I always wondered who would be stupid enough to open a club on top of the Hellmouth."

            "I was looking for an adventure."  Emilia frowned, the delicate space between her brows creased with worry.  "Unfortunately too much adventure has occurred.  That's why I placed the ad in the paper.  I need someone to help counter the more… active troublemakers."

            "You're looking for a bouncer for the evil nasties of the Hellmouth?"

            Emilia nodded.  "Yes.  Are you interested in the job?  That is why you came to the Bronze tonight, isn't it?  Unless your only purpose in venturing out was to follow the massive, dark haired lump of-" 

            "Hey!  Get out of my mind!  Now."

            A broad grin broke out on Emilia's face.  Her violet eyes shone with amusement.  "Sorry.  I couldn't resist.  I wouldn't worry too much about him though.  She's not interested.  So will you take the job, William?"

            "You do know what I am, right?"

            The grin faded.  Her face grew serious as she stared at Spike.  "I know what you are.  Probably more than you know what you are."

            "What-"

            "So you'll take the job?  Excellent."  Emilia stood and walked next to Spike.  She reached for his hand and shook it, leading him over to the door.  Smiling gently, she opened the door and nudged him into the club.  "How about coming back by in two days?  We'll work out a schedule, which will be flexible of course, and adequate pay.  Goodnight, William."

            She nodded to the bartender and closed the door.  Spike stood in front of the small office, brows drawn together in bewilderment.  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, shaking his head softly.  Signaling to the bartender, Spike said, "I think I'll take that drink now, mate."

*                      *                      *

            The warm, sudsy dish water slowly spiraled in the sink, escaping into the metal drainpipe.  Buffy opened one kitchen cabinet and lifted the stack of clean plates, carefully maneuvering the still dripping dishware into the cramped storage space.  Closing the cabinet door, Buffy reached for the paper towel roll, ripped two sheets off, and dried her soap covered hands.  She threw the damp towels into the garbage can and grabbed her glass of orange juice from the corner of the counter.  

            As she walked to the living room, her mind drifted, replaying the events of the night before.  She had felt him, in her gut and in her mind, even though he had remained outside of sight.  Buffy shook her head and sighed as she plopped down on the couch.  She had never been able to sense Spike like this before.  The only person who had had this primal, instinctive reaction within her had been Angel.  She sipped her orange juice, mind racing.  Something had happened to Spike when he had left Sunnydale.  He had changed, changed enough for him to warrant an appearance in her Slayer dreams.  But what had changed?  Was it the chip?  Had he gotten it removed?  Or was it…?

            Buffy snorted and smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face.  That was impossible.  He would never want… or would he?  How could he-?  Buffy started at the sound of knocking at her front door.  She set the glass onto the coffee table and moved over to the door. She opened the door and smiled.

            "Hey, Giles.  Thanks for coming over."

            Giles nodded slightly as he entered the Summers home.  "It's no problem Buffy.  Actually, I also have something I need to tell you."

            Buffy returned to the couch and looked at Giles with wide eyes.  "What is it?  Are you leaving again?"

            "No.  I'm not leaving," Giles said as he sat across from Buffy.  "I heard from the coven last night-" 

            "Is something wrong with Willow?  Is she Ok?"

            "Willow is fine.  In fact, she is doing remarkably well.  They said that a-a change occurred within her.  Almost overnight.  Willow will not talk about it, but some of the others mentioned hearing voices within her room and seeing a bright light."

            Buffy frowned.  "You don't think it was anything dangerous do you?"

            Giles shook his head.  "No.  It seems to have been a positive force for Willow.  The coven said that she has devoted herself to her lessons wholeheartedly and is progressing very well."

            A small smile curved Buffy's lips.  "That's good.  I'm glad she's doing good."

            "Yes.  Now what is it you needed to talk to with me about?"

            Buffy took another sip from her orange juice and examined her Watcher out of the corner of her eye.  She was stalling, and he knew it.  Sighing, Buffy said, "Spike is back."

            Giles straightened.  He stared at Buffy, his eyes narrowed in concern, and said, "Spike has returned to Sunnydale?"

            Buffy nodded.  "Yeah.  There's something that I need your help wi-"

            "How do you know he has returned?"

            "Um, I saw him.  One night while I was patrolling."  She picked at the seams on the couch, hazel eyes focused on the multicolored threads.  "I tracked him down to a place near Rest Haven.  Talked with him a few times."

            Giles was silent as he absorbed Buffy's information.  He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his face.  He looked at Buffy again.  "How long has he been back?"

            "Three weeks?  Giles, what's with-"

            "Three weeks."  Giles pushed off of the couch. He glared at Buffy; his voice was tight with fury as he said, "Spike has been back in town for three weeks and it is only now that you tell me."

            Buffy stood and crossed her arms over her chest; she gritted her teeth and stared at Giles with hard eyes.  "Yes."

            "Buffy, he is dangerous.  To you and to everyone else in Sunnydale."

            "No, he's not."

            "Yes, he is.  He is a soulless vampire who is capable-"

            "Giles, the last time you saw Spike, he was dressed in god awful tweed and trying to hide from a loan shark.  What is with the 'Let's kill the evil vamp' attitude?  You…"  Her mouth dropped open as she trailed off.  Buffy shook her head when Giles looked down at the floor.  She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, as she paced the length of the living room.  Drawing in a deep breath, she said, "He told you, didn't he?  Before he left."

            Giles stepped next to Buffy and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Yes, Xander told me what happened.  He was conc-"

            Buffy jerked out from underneath Giles' hand and stalked over to the opposite corner of the living room.  "It doesn't matter what he was!  Angry, giddy, concerned.  It wasn't his place to tell."

            "Well, you were not very forthcoming with the fact that Spike almost raped you.  I have a right to know."

            Buffy shook her head.  "No, you don't.  You left.  You left so that I would become an adult and handle my life on my own.  And I am doing that.  I'm sorry if you're mad that I didn't run to you-"

            Giles sighed.  "Buffy, I am not mad.  I'm concerned.  I don't want you to get hurt again.  Spike is dangerous-"

            "I know exactly how dangerous Spike can be.  I know what he is capable of."  She turned and faced the window, arms drawn tight around her middle.  "But so does Spike.  He knows what he did was wrong.  And he's apologized to me.  To me, Giles.  The only other person who knows exactly what happened between us."  Tension and anger rolled off of her in hostile waves.  She pulled her shoulders back and faced Giles.  Her mouth was set in a hard line, emotions hidden behind an impervious mask.  "I have to get to work now.  I trust you know your way out."  Moving to the coffee table, she grabbed her glass of orange juice and stalked out of the living room.                    

*                      *                      *

            The sound of the back door slamming, followed closely by the front, echoed through the silent house.  Dawn sat at the top of the stairs, body trembling with anger and pain.  She had heard Giles knock on the door and had started to descend the stairs when she heard Willow's name.  Freezing, she listened to the conversation about the absent redhead turn into the conversation about the present bleach blonde.  She slid next to the wall and silently observed the tense exchange between Slayer and Watcher over the return of Spike.  

            So much for honesty between sisters.  

            Standing, Dawn ran to Buffy's room and slammed open the door.  She entered the dark bedroom, stepped next to the heavy chest at the foot of Buffy's bed, and threw the lid open.  She grabbed a stake, shoved it into the waistband of her jeans, and reached for a large wooden cross.  Her jagged breaths sounded in the silence and her pounding heart throbbed in her chest as she streaked out of Buffy's bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the house to the Rest Haven cemetery.

*                      *                      *


	14. Confessions of a Soulful Mind

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Buffy, Spike, and the rest of the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer are not owned by me.  Unfortunately.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc.  I borrow them for fun, not for profit._

Chapter Fourteen: Confessions of a Soulful Mind

By: Wynn

            The front door slid open with barely a whisper across the bare wood floor.  Sunlight streaked into the darkness, illuminating the front hall of the old farmhouse.  Dawn edged inside the house and eased the door shut, wincing slightly at the audible click of the door lock.  She leaned against the wall, attempting to calm her racing heart and slow her rapid breathing.  Three hours of searching had passed before Dawn had discovered the farmhouse nestled between the cemetery and woods.  She wondered if anyone noticed she was gone.  Brushing a lock of light brown hair out of her eyes, she grabbed the stake from the waistband of her jeans, clutched the cross in her hand, and moved deeper within the house. 

            Dawn peeked into the room on her left.  Two chairs surrounding a glass coffee table resided in front of a marble fireplace.  A couple of books lay haphazardly on the table, next to a deck of playing cards; heavy oak bookshelves filled with musty volumes rested against two walls.  Backing out of the room, Dawn crossed the hallway and walked into the dining room.  An ornate cherry table consumed the majority of space and six plush chairs circled the oval table.  A fine layer of dust and grime coated the table and chairs, smudging the window panes and dulling the elegant candelabra on the table.  A glass cabinet filled with an odd assortment of dishes and china lay against the far wall, next to a set of swinging doors.  Creeping across the vacant dining room, Dawn nudged the door open, revealing an empty, spotless kitchen.  

            Sighing, Dawn returned to the front hall and looked up the staircase to the second floor.  Darkness covered the top of the stairs.  Shifting the stake in her sweaty palm, she walked to the foot of the stairs and slowly ascended.  Her wide blue eyes were trained on the blackness awaiting her; sweat dripped down her neck and trailed across her spine to pool in the small of her back.  Dawn paused when she reached the second floor.  All of the doors to the four rooms composing the floor were closed save the one at the end of the hall.  She could hear muffled mumblings emanating from the room, echoing down the narrow hall, reverberating within her consciousness.  Mouth set in a thin, hard line, Dawn moved down the hall to the open room.

            Flattening against the wall, she peered into the room.  A massive four poster bed covered in black cotton sheets sat in the center of the room.  Heavy curtains covered the windows, completely obscuring the bright afternoon light.  Dawn tensed as she heard a harsh groan from the bed.  She leaned back on the wall and sucked in a deep breath, glancing between the stake in her hand and the dark bedroom.  She squared her shoulders, stepped to the door, and slid into the bedroom, maneuvering around the edge of the room until the center of the bed came into view.  Spike was asleep, twisting slightly underneath midnight sheets, face pinched in pain.  He moaned again and gripped the sheets, knuckles whitening from the force of his exertion.

            "No… no… 'm sorry… didn't… stop… god… so much, so much blood."  

            Dawn froze, her blue gaze riveted to the writhing figure on the bed before her.  The wooden cross slid out of her hand and landed upon the carpeted floor, a hollow thud amid panicked cries.  

            "Stop… stop… no… nonoNoNO!"  A jagged scream was torn from his throat as Spike slammed into a sitting position.  His lower lip trembled, his eyes were squeezed shut.  He drew in a ragged breath and rubbed a shaking hand across his face.  His head snapped up as the stake fell from Dawn's hand, crashing against the floor and rolling next to the bed.  His face was pale, lined in tracks of tears.  "Bit…"

            Dawn flinched and snatched her stake off the floor.  She gritted her teeth and stared at Spike through a thin film of tears.  "No.  I talk.  You listen.  I-I have something I need to say.  One, if you ever, **ever, try to do what you did to my sister again I will kill you.  I am being trained by the best, so believe me when I say I can."  She lifted the quivering hand clasping the stake as glistening drops of tears fell from her eyes.  "Two, if you ever leave town again without saying goodbye I will kill you."  Dawn trembled, her body barely containing the conflicting passions welling within her.  "Three, if you ever come back to Sunnydale without letting me know you're back I… I will…"  Soft cries escaped her clenched jaw.  The stake dropped from her hand once more.**

            "Dawn…"  Legs buckling underneath her, Dawn collapsed onto the floor, soul tearing sobs ripped from her raw throat obliterating the hold she had placed over her emotions.  Spike stood, black sheet slipping onto the floor, and moved towards Dawn.  He kneeled before her, and he raised one hand, softly caressing the top of her head.  "I-"

            "No!"  Dawn knocked his hand away from her.  She punched him on the chest, then again, her short nails digging into his pale chest.  "You said you wouldn't leave me!  That you would always be here!  That you would always protect me!  But you left!  And I needed you!  Buffy needed you!  Tara died and Willow went psycho and Buffy had to fight Willow and I was all alone and I needed you…but you left…"  She threw her arms around his neck and crumpled against his chest, coating his cool skin with scalding tears.

            Quiet cries and icy tears merged with her harsh sobs.  Spike drew his arms around Dawn as he whispered, "I'm sorry.  Niblet, I'm sorry.  I had to go.  I couldn't stay."

            Dawn leaned back in his arms; her eyes were red and puffy.  She sought his steel blue gaze.  Her voice cracked as she said, "Why?  What was so important?"

            His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping her tears then brushing a strand of silky hair behind her ear.  He stared at her for a moment, bowed with the weight of his failure to protect her, of his failure to protect everyone from the world, from the demons, and from himself.  His voice was low as he murmured, "My soul."

            "Your what?"

            "I left Sunnydale to get my soul back.  My human soul."

            She closed her eyes, willing the revelation to make sense in her chaotic mind.  Spike with a soul… Spike wanting a soul… Chipped, cocky, snarky Spike possessing a soul… She opened her eyes and looked.  Looked at the man kneeling before her, shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed with the heavy circles of exhaustion, face coated with tears.  Her friend and protector; the vampire who loved her sister and respected her mother, who killed two Slayers and thousands of people, who endured torture for her, who hurt her sister and left them both.  She looked and whispered, "How?"

            Spike told her everything.  Why he had left town, meeting Whistler, the cave in Africa, the fight for his soul.  He explained his search for Angel, his stay at the Hyperion, fighting with Faith, and his return to the Hellmouth.  He talked about his discussion with Buffy, watching her with Tyler, and his encounter with Emilia.  He spoke about the feeling of the soul burning into him while he lay on the cold cave floor; the shock flooding his system at seeing Buffy again, left breathless by her beauty shining beneath the moonlight; the nightmares assaulting him as soon as he closed his eyes.

            He told her everything, and she listened.

*                      *                      *

            She stalked through the cemetery.  Her body was tight with anger, frustration, and betrayal.  She clenched her fists; her nails cut into the palms of her hand.  She roughly wiped the blood off on her jeans as she let out a muffled scream of rage, foot crashing against the granite tombstone, the echo of impact reverberating through the night covered graveyard.  

            "Uh… B?"

            "What?!"

            Faith stepped over the cracked and crumbled tombstone.  She edged in front of Buffy, one eyebrow raised.  "Um… usually I'd be all for mindless rage and destruction, but it just doesn't suit you.  It's a little scary, and that's saying a lot coming from me.  You want to, uh, talk or something?"

            Buffy sighed and drug her hands through her golden blonde hair.  She rolled her shoulders, stretching the iron muscles in her neck and back.  Shaking her head, she said, "No.  No, that's Ok.  I- I just had a fight with Giles.  You wouldn't understand.  He-"

            Faith snorted as she crossed her arms across her chest.  "Whatever, B.  Sorry I didn't have the magical Watcher-Slayer bond that you and Tweed did."  She spun on her heel and took off across the silent cemetery.

            "Faith!  Wait!"  Buffy ran after the brunette Slayer, grabbing her arm and spinning her around.  Faith jerked out of Buffy's grasp as the blonde said, "I didn't mean it like that.  It's just that you would have no clue as to who we argued about.  You don't know him."

            A smirk twisted Faith's ruby red lips.  "Right."  She turned and walked away from Buffy again.

            Anger began to course through the tiny blonde.  She sprinted after Faith, cutting her off before she could pass through the iron gates and exit the graveyard.  "What was that supposed to mean?"

            Faith cocked an eyebrow.  "It means nothing."

            "It didn't sound like nothing."

            "Oh, so now you're telling me what I mean to say in addition to telling me what I know and don't know?"

            "What?  I'm not telling anything."

            "My point exactly."

            Buffy rolled her eyes and placed her hands upon her hips.  Her hazel eyes shone with irritation.  "What did you expect?  Did you expect me to just pour my deepest, darkest secrets out to you?  The girl who tried to kill me and take over my life?"

            Faith laughed, a rueful, pain filled burst of scorn.  "That's all I'm ever going to be to you, isn't it?  The evil Slayer who tried to kill you?"  She grasped the hem of her navy tank and yanked the shirt up, revealing a thin white scar across her stomach.  "Remember this?  Remember when **you tried to kill ****me?  You slid my knife into my gut and I ended up in a coma for a year."**

            "I wouldn't have had to go after you if you hadn't poisoned Angel."

            Another cruel laugh escaped Faith.  Her dark eyes glittered with venom, masking the hurt of having another sin thrown back in her face.  "Yeah, you did all that hard work to save him and he still left you anyway."

            "Shut up.  You know nothing about me and Angel."  Buffy glared at Faith as she backed away from the brunette, out of the cemetery and onto the open road.    

            "You're right.  I don't know shit about that.  But I know a whole lot about **Angel."**

            Buffy stopped.  

            Faith sauntered over to Buffy, a wicked grin appearing on her face as she circled the blonde.  "You thought he was your soul mate.  Your one true love.  Your knight in shining armor.  Bet you dreamed about the day he would swoop back into your life and sweep you off your feet."  Faith paused before Buffy and leaned into her, their faces inches away from each other.  "You think he was thinking of you when he was banging Darla?  Oh… you didn't know.  Chick was brought back from the dead.  Guess you're not as special as you thought.  Just a poor substitute for Darla-"

            Buffy's fist crashed into her face, cutting off Faith's scathing soliloquy, knocking the brunette onto the ground.  Faith pushed herself into a sitting position and drew her thumb across the corner of her mouth.  It came away stained with blood.  She stood and faced Buffy.  Her voice was rough and hollow as she said, "Give us a kiss, B."  

            The two Slayers launched themselves at each other.  The empty street was filled with primal growls and pain filled howls.  Fists slammed into chests, feet smashed into faces.  Nails clawed across flesh, drawing lines of blood amid sweat slicked skin.  Buffy flew at Faith, crashing into her midsection, sending both to the ground.  They rolled end over end, each trying to gain the advantage, to capitalize on the other's moment of weakness.  The two women slammed against the brick wall enclosing the graveyard.  Faith straddled Buffy.  Her hand clutched Buffy's throat just as the blonde's hand closed around Faith's.  

            "So, B, how's-"

            Faith's fingers were torn from Buffy's throat as she was wrenched off the blonde and thrown across the vacant road.  She landed on the concrete, breathless as the air rushed out of her.  Gasping, she struggled to stand.  Faith turned toward Buffy again and came face to face with twin pools of furious blue.

            "What the hell is going on here?"

            Faith scowled at Spike.  She rubbed a hand across the clawed gouges on her throat and pointed at Buffy.  "She started it, Blondie.  She's nuts-"

            Buffy snarled and jumped at Faith again.  Spike's arm shot out and grabbed the blonde Slayer in midair.  He held onto her arm as he moved between the two women.  "Buffy.  Buffy!"  She jerked her gaze away from Faith and locked eyes with Spike.  Her hazel eyes were sparkling with hatred.  He brushed her honey hair away from her face, his cool fingers lightly caressing the scratches across her throat.  "What happened?"

            Buffy sighed and closed her eyes.  She leaned against his hand; her body trembled, overwhelmed by the emotions broiling underneath her skin.  She sighed again, forcing her muscles to relax, and opened her eyes.  "Nothing.  I'm just stressed and Little Miss Friendly got pissed because I wouldn't have a heart to heart with her."

            "Whatever, B."

            Spike turned his head and scowled at the brunette.  "Zip it, Faith."

            "What?!  You're just going to take her side and not even listen to me."

            "No, I'm trying to understand what the bloody hell happened.  If you want to tell me, then-"

            "You know her."

            Spike and Faith looked at Buffy.  Her mouth was open in shock, brows knitted together in confusion.  She glanced from one to the other and said, "You two know each other.  How…You two never fought…"  An image from her Slayer dream popped into her consciousness: _Faith __tackling Spike, straddling him, holding a stake above his chest.  __Buffy running towards them to push the brunette off Spike.   "But you did.  You two fought… but not in Sunnydale… where?"  Another memory flashed into her mind's eye of Anya and Faith in front of the Magic Shop, explaining how they met:  __We crossed paths in __L.A.__ …At Angel's.  _

            Her eyes snapped to Spike's face.  He stepped towards her.  "Buffy-" 

            "You went to Angel's after you left town?"

            "I stayed there for a while, but-"   

            "No.  You were at Angel's with Faith.  And with Anya.  And you didn't tell me."  

            "I know, but-"

            She spun on her heels and sprinted down the street.  Tears flooded her eyes, threatening to spill across her flushed cheeks.  

            Spike raced after her.  "Buffy!  Stop!"

            "No!  I don't want to talk to you right now."

            Sighing, he said softly, "Buffy, please-"

            She turned and slammed her fist into his chest, causing him to stumble back a few steps.  She shook with anger, with hurt, with shock.  "Why don't you go talk with Faith?  Take her back to Anya's.  You three can call up Angel and have a wonderful bonding time together.  Talk about how much of a bitch Buffy is.  How she's emotionally fucked and-and uptight and elitist.  Have a grand old time."  She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.  Her gaze traveled from Spike to Faith before she spun and ran down the street.

            Spike lowered his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes.  "Fuck…"

            "Told you she's lost it."

            "Faith, would you-"

            A sharp cry pierced the night air.  Spike's head snapped up.  His eyes went wide at the sight of Buffy down on the ground surrounded by two massive demons.  "Shit."  He ran towards her, crashing into something large, brown, and covered with thorns as it jumped in front of him.  It was another demon, exactly like the two attacking Buffy.  He felt Faith move behind him until the two were back to back.  

            "Shit, Spike.  Here comes another one."

            Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Spike watched the demon before him.  The thorns covering its mud brown chest dripped with clear fluid.  "Don't touch the thorns!  They're poisonous!"

            Faith darted to the side as the second demon swung at her.  "Then how the fuck are we supposed to kill them?"

            Spike ducked as the first demon punched; its thick brown fist sailed over Spike's head.  Rolling out of striking distance, Spike said, "Not sure."

            "Great."  The second demon kicked at Faith.  She staggered backwards towards the cemetery wall, pressing flush against the rough stones.  The demon paused in its advances before charging Faith.  She jumped aside as the demon closed in on her, causing it to crash head first against the wall.  The demon swayed and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.  Faith stepped on it, one foot on its head, the other on its neck, and shifted, breaking its neck beneath her boots.  The demon convulsed, knocking Faith off balance, then vanished, leaving only a small patch of clear slime coating the grass.  

            "Neck breaking works."

            "Usually does."  Spike dodged another blow from the demon and glanced at Buffy.  She darted between the two surrounding her and rolled to a standing position, her back to Spike.  The demon kicked again and connected with Spike's gut.  Doubling over, the blonde glared at the demon as it moved towards him.  He kicked at it, crushing its knee and sending it to the ground.  Spike aimed another kick at the demon's head before he reached down, grasped both sides of its head, and roughly twisted its neck.  The dead demon shuddered for a few seconds then disappeared.  

            Buffy stood in front of the two demons.  He hands were upon her hips and a scowl covered her face.  "I'm really not in the mood for this."

            The demons stopped and glanced at each other, before fanning out to surround the Slayer again.  

            "And that obviously means nothing to you."  She walked backwards, Spike's warning about the thorns echoing in her mind.  One of the demons ran towards her and slammed against the iron gates of the cemetery as Buffy moved out of the way.  Its head was stuck between the thick bars.  The second demon punched the blonde Slayer.  She fell, scrambling backwards as the demon stepped over her, fist cocked back.  Its head twisted violently, and it collapsed against the concrete and vanished.

            Breathing hard, Buffy looked up and saw Spike standing above her.  In the distance, she watched Faith walk away from the graveyard gate and from the dead demon captured between its bars.  Buffy stood, brushing off her dirt covered jeans, her eyes locked on Spike.  They stared at each other, a minute creeping by, before Buffy mumbled, "Thanks."  She stepped around him and headed in the opposite direction of the brunette Slayer, leaving Spike alone in the graveyard.

*                      *                      *


	15. No Punching Allowed

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc. own them.  I use them for fun, not for profit.

AN: Sorry for the long wait for a new chapter.  RL stuff got in the way, as it tends to do on occasion.  I hope everyone enjoys this chapter.  Please leave a review.  They're wonderful things.  And many thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta.  I appreciate all of the time you've put into this story.    

Chapter Fifteen: No Punching Allowed 

By: Wynn

            Buffy lay on the bed, eyes closed, fingers trailing over the cuts and bruises on her neck.  Her mind was numb, overwhelmed with the conflicting emotions careening inside her head and heart.  Embarrassment, anger, hurt, confusion, guilt, rage.  Faith had struck again, interjecting herself into what was hers.  Buffy frowned.  Hers?  Spike wasn't hers, far from it.  She had no claim on him.  They were barely friends.  Angel was in the past, and his involvement with Faith came as no surprise considering his support of her in the past.  And Buffy had never been close to Anya, even when she was dating Xander.  But the feeling of betrayal and jealousy swirled within Buffy, stoking her resentment, fanning the flames of fury.

            She sighed and sat up in her bed, staring at her opened closet, at the red silk shirt hanging amidst her skirts, shirts, and sweaters.  How long had Spike and Faith known each other?  Were they close?  Were they more than friends?  Did he **want to be more than friends?  Buffy shook her head, attempting to clear her mind of the endless stream of what-ifs running through her.  Maybe if she had stayed last night, her questions would have been answered.  But how could she have stayed and listened to the explanation of the relationship between the woman who had tried to steal her first boyfriend and slept with the second, and… what?  Her ex-enemy?  Ex-boyfriend?  Her relationship last year with Spike did not exactly qualify as typical "boyfriend-girlfriend."  It would be natural for him to move on to someone else, to want to move on to someone else.  But he had come back to Sunnydale, and he said he had come back for her.  **

            And why was she so concerned about what he felt for her and what he could possibly feel for Faith?  

            She grabbed a pillow off her bed and threw it against the wall.  It smashed against a picture, knocking it off of its nail and onto the floor.  She moved next to the broken picture, carefully brushed away the shards of glass, and picked it up.  It was one of her, Xander, and Willow, taken a few months after Buffy had moved to Sunnydale.  The people in the picture were happy and were best friends.  Now so much had happened that she didn't know who her friends were anymore.  

            She didn't know who she was anymore.    

            Setting the picture on her dresser, Buffy looked around her room, at the decorations that had been there since she was sixteen years old.  She wasn't the same girl with the fantasies of a normal life, who cared more about shopping and gossiping than anything else in the world.  She was caretaker to a fifteen year old mystical ball of energy-turned-little sister.  She had a steady job.  Hell, she had died twice.  The sixteen year old girl with visions of Prada and Johnny Depp was no more.  But who was she now?  

            Buffy sighed again, a lone tear sliding across her cheek.  She brushed her fingertips across her face, smearing the glistening teardrop, and walked to the bathroom.  She splashed cool water on her face and looked into the mirror.  The face in the mirror belied her scant twenty-one years.  It was pale and exhausted, and it had seen too much, witnessed too many apocalypses, suffered through too many betrayals that it had hardened, forming an impenetrable mask over her heart.  Seven years of slaying had taken its toll on Buffy, but she didn't want to exist like that anymore, like a hardened shell.  She didn't want to be ostracized from her friends and family and she didn't want to have to fight Willow or Xander or Giles or Dawn or… Spike.  

            She wanted to live.  

            Straightening her shoulders, Buffy took one last look in the mirror and left the bathroom.  "Dawn!  Hey, little sis of mine!"

            "In the kitchen."

            Descending the stairs, Buffy said, "I was thinking we should go out today.  You know do something fun.  Just you and me.  What do you…"  Buffy trailed off as she entered the kitchen and saw Dawn glaring at her, her blue eyes shining with barely restrained anger.  "What?  What is it?  Did something happen?"

            Dawn crossed her arms over her chest.  "When were you going to tell me?"

            "Tell you what?"

            "About Spike!"

            Buffy drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.  "How did you find out?"

            "I heard you.  You and Giles."

            Opening her eyes, Buffy said, "Dawnie-"

            "No!  Don't even!"  Dawn stalked forward, scowling, and stopped before Buffy, planting her hands on her hips.  "Don't even try to make an excuse.  'Dawnie, I meant to tell you.'  'Dawnie, it's complicated.'  'Dawnie, it's my life.  Stay out of it.'  'Dawnie-"

            "-I'm sorry."

            Dawn's mouth closed with a snap.  She blinked once, then again.  "What?"

            Buffy smiled, a small watery curve of her lips, and brushed a strand of hair off Dawn's face.  "I'm sorry.  I should have told you about Spike."

            "Well… yeah."

            Buffy shook her head as she walked through the kitchen, tears pooling in her hazel eyes.  "It… it's just that I didn't know what to say to you.  About Spike.  I didn't know what to think.  He vanishes... completely.  And then a couple of months later, he just shows up again.  Drifts back into town and into my life, and I-I don't know what to think.  And it's not just that.  Something's changed.  He's different.  I know it.  But he doesn't say anything about where he was or what he was doing, and then I find out that he was in L.A. with Faith and Angel and Anya.  And I'm more confused because I think that we're friends but I don't know if I should be friends with him after everything that happened, and we would be better off not being friends and just-just not…"  Buffy sunk to the floor, trembling, tears streaming down her face.  She leaned her head against the counter and crushed her bottom lip between her teeth, struggling to be strong.  

            Dawn watched her sister crumble before her.  She moved next to Buffy and sat beside her, grabbing her hand and holding it tight.  She laid her cheek upon Buffy's shoulder. 

            Buffy sniffled and wiped the tears from her face.  She shifted and locked eyes with Dawn.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I should have told you."

            "Yeah.  And I shouldn't have overreacted.  I'm sorry too."  Dawn glanced at the floor and fidgeted; she returned her gaze to Buffy and said, "I went to see him yesterday."

            "You did?  What did he say?"

            Dawn sighed and stood.  She reached down, grabbed Buffy's hand, and helped her up off the floor.  Moving to the cabinet, Dawn grabbed two mugs and set them on the counter.  

            "Dawn…"

            "He told me where he went after he left Sunnydale.  He told me what happened to him."

            "What happened?"

            Dawn bit the corner of her lip and looked at Buffy, who stood next to the refrigerator, face tear stained, eyes red and puffy.  "I- You should ask him."

            Buffy rubbed a hand over her face and opened the fridge, removing the orange juice and placing it beside the two glasses.  "I don't think he wants to see me."

            "Why?"

            Buffy fingered the bruises on her throat, grimacing as the events of the night before replayed in her mind.

            "Oh my god."  Dawn rushed over to her sister and pulled her hand away from her throat.  She leaned down and examined the cuts and scrapes on Buffy's neck.  "What happened?  Did you two get in a fight?"

            Buffy shook her head and backed away from Dawn.  Pacing the kitchen, she said, "Faith.  I fought with Faith.  And he broke it up."

            Confusion spread across Dawn's face.  "I thought you and Faith were getting along better."

            "We were.  Until last night.  Then we both lost our tempers and… bam!  Another Buffy and Faith fight for the record books.  At least no one ended up in a coma."

            "But what would that have to do with Spike not wanting to… oh.  You learned that he knew Faith and freaked out, didn't you?"

            Buffy shifted, her gaze floating around the room, landing everywhere except Dawn.  "I didn't… freak out.  I, um, ran away.  But-but I didn't fight with Faith about Spike.  It was, um, because of Angel."

            Dawn raised an eyebrow.  "Angel?"

            "Sort of…uh… yum.  Orange juice.  Gotta love some nice, tangy OJ."  Buffy returned to the counter and poured two glasses of orange juice.  She handed one to Dawn then sat on one of the stools surrounding the kitchen counter.  "So… about tonight?"

            "Spike doesn't like Faith.  He gets her, understands where she's coming from.  You know, formerly evil people trying to do good.  But he doesn't like her."

            "It… she's like his perfect type.  Psychotic brunette with an Angel fixation."

            One corner of Dawn's mouth quirked up, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.  Face sober, she sat across from Buffy and said, "He gave up one psychotic brunette with an Angel fixation, one that he had a hundred years worth of history with, for you.  He wanted you."

            "Yeah…"

            "Just talk to him.  Really talk to him.  With no punching."

            Buffy smiled at her sister and smoothed Dawn's hair from her face.  "I love you."

            "Love you, too.  So what are we going to do today?  Maybe… some shopping followed by a trip to the Bronze?"

            "Sounds good to me."  Buffy laughed as her sister jumped up and down.  She watched Dawn bound out of the kitchen and race up the stairs, her words of wisdom weighing heavily in Buffy's mind.  Talk to Spike.  No problem.  She was an adult and adults have conversations all the time.  Have civil, meaningful conversations… about thoughts… and feelings… without resorting to screaming and name calling and violence… oh god.  It was hopeless.  Buffy swallowed and ran a hand through her blonde hair as she slid off the stool and walked out of the kitchen.     

*                      *                      *

            "Cheer up.  This is no fun with you two sitting here moping and casting broody looks around the room."  Two sets of eyes, one blue and the other black, turned and scowled at the overly perky voice of Anya.  She glanced from Spike to Faith and sighed.  "Your scary looks don't work on me.  I could kick both of your asses within a minute, and you both know it.  So perk up.  Now."

            Faith slouched lower in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest, and Spike rolled his eyes and turned to look out into the Bronze.  The club was full.  The friends sat around a tall table next to the dance floor, between the pool tables and the stairs to the second level.  Anya had complained, whined, and nagged until Spike and Faith had agreed to go to the Bronze with her, and Spike had only acquiesced under the condition that Clem joined them.  Thirty minutes had passed since the four friends had arrived, and Anya was beyond irritated at the moody silence of Spike and Faith.              

            "You know, guys, Anya does have a point," Clem said as he looked at the Slayer and the vampire.  "The fun factor is significantly less with all of the brooding."

            Spike clenched his jaw.  "I'm not brooding."

            "Sure, yeah, whatever you say, Mr. Mopey Pants."

            Anya propped her elbows on top of the table and rested her chin in her clasped hands.  "At least tell us what's wrong if you're not going to be cheerful."  Her request was met with hostile silence.  Lips pursed, Anya examined her two friends.  She raised one eyebrow and said, "I bet it's Buffy."

            Spike stiffened.  Faith flinched.

            Anya continued.  "She's the only one that can get under both of your skins like this.  What do you think, Clem?"

            "I think you're right, Anya."

            "Me, too.  So what did Buffy do this time?"

            Spike turned his head from the crowded Bronze and stared at Anya, exasperation shining from his blue eyes.  "Buffy didn't do anything."

            Nodding, Anya said, "So what happened?"

            Faith stood, knocking her chair to the floor.  "Can't you mind your own fucking business and stay the hell out of it?"  She spun on her heel and disappeared amid the mass of people.

            "Touchy."

            Spike rolled his eyes.  He let his gaze drift around the dark club, eyes widening when he saw Dawn and Buffy walk through the entrance, laughing, broad smiles on their faces.  They looked beautiful, glowing like glimpses of the sun on a rainy day.  The smile faded from Buffy's face as she turned and locked eyes with him.  He felt his heart constrict at the sight of her, tighten with the emotion he struggled to keep hidden from her, from everyone, from himself.  Love.  They were his world, his family, the only people besides the Great Poof that he cared about.  

Spike watched Dawn glance at Buffy.  She leaned closer to her sister and followed her line of sight across the Bronze.  Dawn waved when she saw him.  She grabbed Buffy's hand and attempted to drag her towards the table, but Buffy pulled out of Dawn's grasp, eyes wide, shaking her head quickly.  Dawn crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side as she listened to Buffy, then rolled her eyes and walked away, maneuvering past the dancing crowd towards Spike.  "Hey guys."

Spike smiled.  "Dawn, you look beautiful."

Dawn twirled in a circle, showing off her outfit, a lavender halter top and a pair of black pants.  "Thank you.  Buffy and I went shopping today.  Sisterly bonding and stuff like that."  She looked at Spike, her blue gaze traveling from his ash curls down to his scuffed boots.  "And I see you look the same as always.  Basic black."

"Never goes out of style."

"Yeah, just ask Buffy.  All the colors of the rainbow available to her and yet she still goes for black leather."

Spike nodded, glancing at Buffy from the corner of his eyes.  She stood in the center of the Bronze, arms folded, head down, mumbling.  She drew in a deep breath, then another.  "How…um…is she?"

            Dawn's eyes darted towards Clem and Anya before she leaned closer to Spike.  Whispering, she said, "She's fine.  A little embarrassed, and you know how Buffy gets when she's embarrassed."

            "So she told you about last night?"

            "Yeah."  Dawn grasped Spike's hand and pulled him from his chair.  She circled around him and plopped onto his now vacant stool.  "You should go talk to her.  She wants to talk to you, but she doesn't know how.  Her basic conversation skills rarely extend past face punching."  She nudged him away from the table and faced Clem.

            Spike looked back at Buffy and sucked in a deep breath.  "Dawn, I-"

            "I don't hear you leaving yet."

            Clem and Anya laughed at Dawn's commanding tone.  Glaring daggers at his two friends, Spike sighed and moved onto the dark dance floor of the Bronze towards Buffy.

*                      *

            Buffy ran her hands over the bare skin of her arms and shifted from one boot clad foot to the other.  This was too soon.  She wasn't ready.  She needed more time to prepare.  Conversations weren't something that happened everyday.  She could feel him moving towards her, drawing closer and closer, and the urge to run swelled within her, swirling inside her stomach.  

            "Buffy."

            She froze, panic gripping her muscles, freezing her lungs, and stopping her heart.  Buffy sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her body to relax.  She turned towards Spike, opened her eyes, and said, "Hey."

            The colored lights of the club danced above Spike, highlighting the pale blonde streaks in his hair, the deep blue of his eyes.  He glanced at her throat, grimacing at the faded ring of purple bruises.  "Are you Ok?"

            "Yeah.  They're not too bad.  I've, uh, had worse.  Which probably isn't a good thing, but par for the course for me, you know, with the Slaying and, uh, everything."

            "Yeah."  Spike licked his lips and sucked in two quick breaths.  "About last night, I-"

            Buffy held up her hand.  "Wait.  I wanted to, um, say sorry.  I kind of lost it last night.  B-but it wasn't your fault.  You didn't do anything.  So… I'm sorry.  For the punching a-and yelling."

            A small smile appeared on Spike's face.  "No worries, luv, I mean, Buffy.  Do you want to talk about whatever made you mad?"

            Buffy shook her head.  "It's not important.  Got into a fight with Giles.  No big."  Her hazel eyes darted to the side and locked on the black clad form of Faith.  The brunette approached the table with Clem, Anya, and Dawn and retrieved a fallen stool off the ground, setting it upright next to Anya.  She sat on the stool, shoulders hunched, arms folded across her chest.  Turning back to Spike, Buffy said, "So you and Faith… um… known each other?"

            "Sort of.  We've threatened to kill each other a few times, but not much else."

            "Oh."  Buffy glanced down at her clasped hands and gnawed on her lower lip.  Her gaze drifted up and locked with Spike's.  "Dawn said you told her what happened over the summer.  Were you going to tell me?"

            "You know most of it.  Left town, went to Angel's, came back here."

            "Why would you go to Angel's?  You hate him.  A lot."

            Spike was silent.  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply; his body trembled.  He ran his fingers through his dark blonde curls and opened his eyes, his sapphire orbs locking onto Buffy's hazel gaze.  He stared at her for a few moments, silently communicating the words he could not speak, willing her to understand what had happened to him.  What he had sought out.  How he had changed.  Her eyes traveled across his face, down his body, and back up again, slowly filling with tears and realization.  Her mind flashed back to her dreams, to the vision of the strange mixture of Spike and William, to the dark cave and green eyed entity.  _We have fulfilled your request.  _

            "Your soul…"

            Spike nodded.

            "Why?"

            His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.  He tilted his head to the side and stared at the toes of his boots.  "I-I had to.  Had to so I wouldn't hurt… so I wouldn't hurt you.  To make sure I would never hurt anyone again."

            "So you got cursed with a soul?"

            "No," Spike said as he lifted his head.  "I won my soul.  It's permanent, no clause, no moment of happiness.  It's here with me…forever."

            Mind racing, overrun with thoughts and feelings, overwhelmed with the revelation of his soul, Buffy shivered.  She drew her arms tighter around her, drops of tears spilling onto her black top, and looked at Spike, stared into the turbulent blue of his eyes.  She reached out with one shaking hand and brushed her fingers across his lips, the cool softness setting her skin ablaze.  "I…"  Buffy turned and ran out of the Bronze, heart thumping wildly inside her chest, golden hair streaming behind her.  She burst through the door, careening into the night air, and sucked in lungfuls of the crisp night breeze.  She stumbled over to the brick wall and leaned against the rough stones.

            "Buffy."  Dawn laid a hand on her sister's shoulder, gently tugging her away from the wall.  She brushed a lock of hair behind Buffy's ear.  Concern etched itself across Dawn's face as she said, "Are you Ok?"

            Buffy shook her head.  "I-I don't… I don't understand.  Why he would…"

            "Why he would want his soul?"

            Buffy nodded.

            "Because he loves you.  Because he wants to be a better man.  Because he wants to be more than just an evil, soulless thing."

            Tears fell from her eyes as Buffy grasped Dawn's hand, squeezing it tight.  "Dawn, when I say, you turn and run back into the Bronze and get the others."

            Dawn stared at Buffy, eyes wide with blooming fear and panic.  "What?  Why?"

            Buffy's tear filled gaze flickered to both ends of the alley before settling on Dawn again.  "Because we're surrounded.  Eight men, four at each end, coming this way.  Some with swords.  Go get Spike.  Get Faith and Anya.  Now."  Buffy released her sister's hand and shoved her towards the entrance to the Bronze.  Dawn stumbled a few steps, crashing against the door to the club, and wrenched it open, disappearing inside the smoky, dim interior.

            Buffy straightened her shoulders and blinked away the few remaining tears.  Her eyes bounced from one end of the alley to the other, watching the eight men advance.  Their hands were covered with black gloves; their faces were lined with scars.  As they closed in on Buffy, they formed a circle, surrounding her on all sides.  Mouth in a grim line, Buffy dropped into a fighting stance, adrenaline flooding her veins, the ancient power of the Slayer coursing through her.  The man directly in front of her lifted is head and nodded.  

            All eight men stalked towards Buffy, swords held high in the air, eyes hard with bloodlust, drawing their circle tighter and tighter around her until one by one they charged.

*                      *                      *


	16. The Men in Black

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc.  I just borrow them to tell my story.  

AN:  **Please read!  The R rating kicks in this chapter.  This chapter contains a ****lot of fighting and bloodshed, so please be prepared if squeamish.  Also this chapter is unbeta'd, so please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes.        **

Chapter Sixteen: The Men in Black

By: Wynn

            Buffy leapt into the air and flipped over the heads of the eight men surrounding her, landing outside of their closing circle.  She turned and aimed a kick at the closest attacker, her boot colliding with his temple, causing him to fall to one knee.  Buffy dodged a punch from another man, and she darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the gleaming tip of a third man's sword.  She moved backwards a few steps, her eyes flickering between the remaining seven men.  Her gaze locked on the one furthest from her, the one who had given the signal to attack.  A faint smile curved his lips as his grey eyes met hers.

            The door to the Bronze crashed open, ripped from its hinges, and flew across the alley into the smirking leader, knocking him into the hard stone wall.  His forehead collided with a jagged edge of stone, and blood streamed down his face.  His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed unconscious onto the ground, the broken door falling on top of him.  Spike rushed out of the club, followed closely by Faith, Anya, Dawn, and Clem.  Buffy moved next to them as they maneuvered into flanking positions behind her.  

The six men scattered, forming a line opposite the Scooby Gang.  Two held swords, one clasped a knife, and one grasped a stake.  The seventh man staggered to his feet, hand pressed against his temple, and rejoined his fellow assassins.   

Buffy glanced at her sister.  Voice low, she said,  "Dawn.  Go.  Now. You know where to go.  Find Giles."

"No," Dawn said as she stepped closer to Buffy.  "I'm not leaving you."

Eyes trained on the seven men before them, Spike said, "Dawn, do what your sister tells you and go.  Clem, get her out of here!"

Nodding, Clem grabbed Dawn's hand and pulled her down the alley.  The man at the end of the line jumped in front of them, cutting off their escape route, his sword glinting in the moonlight.  Clem pushed Dawn behind him and faced the black clad attacker.  The man thrust his sword at Clem, barely missing as the floppy skinned demon sidestepped the cold steel; he held his sword in the air and attacked again, twisting as Clem dodged and shoving the long blade deep into Clem's chest.

            "NO!"  Eyes widening with shock and fear, Dawn watched the assassin remove his sword from Clem, its blade stained dark red with blood.  Clem glanced down at his chest, then at Dawn, his face contorted in pain and horror.  His knees buckled and he fell onto the hard concrete.  The man looked at Clem briefly before stepping over his prone body and moving towards Dawn.         

*                      *                      *

"Dawn!"  Buffy rushed towards Dawn and Clem, but she was flung away from them as the remaining six men charged.  She rolled as she crashed against the ground, jumping into a fighting stance as two of the men broke from the group and walked towards her.  

*                      *                      *

Faith looked from one end of the alley to the other.  Anya stood opposite one assassin with a sword, and Spike faced the man with the stake.  Two men surrounded Buffy; one stalked Dawn.  Faith bounced on the balls of her feet, fists clenching and unclenching, breath coming in rapid, shallow pants as fighting broke out all around her.  Her lips curved into a wicked smirk as she stared at the two men circling her, the one on her right holding a curved knife in his hand.  She reached down, lifted the hem of her black pants, and grasped the catch of the ankle holster attached to her boot.  She slid her knife from its leather casing, twisting it in her hands, watching the light of the night reflect off its smooth surface. 

Faith kicked at the man on her left as her arm swung out, her blade driving the assassin with the knife away from her.  She spun in a circle, her free arm lashing out in a brutal punch.  The first man blocked the blow and sent a kick towards her wrist, attempting to knock the dagger from her hand.  Faith darted back a few steps, turning just as the man behind her slashed with his knife.  She stabbed, the curved tip of her dagger digging into his forearm, sending a surge of blood down his arm.  Moving the blade from his injured right hand to his left, the man threw the knife at Faith.  She dove to the side, wincing as the sharp steel sliced into her upper arm.  She heard a hoarse cry from behind her as she tumbled to the ground.  Springing to her feet, Faith turned and saw the first man lying on the concrete, the knife embedded in his chest.  

She stared at the fallen man, mouth open, dark eyes fixed on the rapidly expanding pool of blood beneath him.  Images flashed into her mind.  Visions of wielding her own knife, of cutting, slicing, and stabbing her victims, of the thrill of violence rushing through her veins.  Screams, pain filled howls of anguish, rang in her ears.  

Her knife slipped from her hand, unnoticed and unwanted.  

Her reflection was broken as she was hit from behind, knocked to the ground from a blow to the back of her head.  Faith turned over and found the second man standing above her, his wounded right arm clasped tightly against his chest.  She scrambled backwards, attempting to stand as he lashed out with his foot, brutally kicking her ribs.  She doubled over, gasping for air, as he aimed another kick at her head.  Faith grabbed his foot and yanked, pulling him down to the concrete.  She arched her body and wrapped her legs around his neck.  She squeezed, the muscles in her legs becoming as hard as steel.  He clawed at her legs with his good hand.  A few minutes passed before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped against the ground.  Faith stared at his prone form for a second, torn between the bloodlust crying within in her to finish him and the horror associated with her deadly sins of the past.  She drew in a deep breath and slowly removed her legs from around his neck, watching with tear filled eyes as his chest began to rise and fall in measured breaths.

*                      *                      *

Anya faced the man across from her.  He lifted his sword and took a step towards her, forcing her back to the brick wall.  Golden brown eyes focused on the shining steel, she bumped against a set of metal garbage cans alongside the alley wall.  Her gaze darted to the left and right, looking for any escape route and finding none.  The man paused and smiled before he stabbed with his sword, the tip of his blade finding nothing but air as Anya teleported.  She reappeared behind him and sent a hard kick to the back of his head.  His sword lodged deep within one of the trash containers as he stumbled forward, crashing into the metal cans.  

Anya pounced, grabbing the man and lifting him into the air.  She twisted and threw him across the alley, smiling slightly as he collided with a dumpster.  She grabbed one of the trash cans and flung it towards the man; the metal container smashed into his face, breaking his nose.  His fingers gingerly touched his crushed cartilage, mouth tightening as his fingertips came away coated with red.  The man fumbled with a dark casing attached to his hip and removed a slim dagger as Anya grasped the handle of the sword and yanked it free.  

Weapons in hand, they circled each other in the moonlit alley.  He moved towards Anya, dagger high in the air, and she swung with her sword.  He danced out of range of the gleaming steel and darted towards her again.  She thrust the sword, crying out as his boot smashed into her wrist, knocking her arm to the side.  The man spun into her and plunged the dagger into Anya's chest, piercing her heart.  Mouth open in shock, she dropped the sword from her hand and stared at gash on her chest.  A cruel smile twisted the man's lips as he watched the blood pour from her wound.  

Her hand shot out, wrapping around his throat, and she lifted him a few inches off the ground.  Eyes bulging, the man watched Anya wrench the dagger from her chest, face pinched in pain, tears streaming down her face.  She held the knife between them as she said, "Swords and knives… they don't kill vengeance demons."  She turned the dagger in her hand, looking at the stained steel, and then locked eyes with the captive assassin.  Anya released her hold on his throat, her hand lashing out as he dropped to the concrete.  She watched him grasp for his neck, trying to staunch the blood flow from the wound across his throat.  "But they kill humans fine," she said as she moved away from the dying man.  She slid down the brick wall, hand pressed against her heart, and released the crimson colored dagger from her grasp.

*                      *                      *

Spike watched the man move before him, the stake passing back and forth between his hands.  He could see Dawn in his peripheral vision, could see the man with the knife pursuing her; fury flooded his system as her scent, overwhelmed with fear, reached him.  He refocused on the assassin, and they circled each other, their movements slow and smooth with the natural grace inherent in predators.  Simultaneously, they rushed each other, a flurry of punches, kicks, jabs, elbows.  Spike grabbed the stake-holding arm of the man and wrenched it upwards, above their heads, and twisted it violently, attempting to loosen the hold on the wooden weapon.  The man kneed Spike in the gut once, twice, two brutal blows that caused Spike to lose his grip on the assassin's wrist.  Passing the weapon from one hand to the other, the man brought the stake towards Spike's heart, his speed shocking the blonde vampire.  Jumping to the side, Spike grimaced as the stake plunged into his shoulder.  He tumbled across the concrete, leaping to his feet and facing the assassin again.  Grasping the stake protruding from his shoulder, Spike pulled, stifling his roar of pain with a clenched jaw.  Left arm dangling uselessly, he glanced at the glistening column of wood held in his hands, watching as a dark drop of blood fell from the splintered tip, before he threw the stake into the air and onto the roof of the Bronze.

Dodging  a punch, Spike lashed out, his boot clad foot connecting with the man's jaw.  He followed the kick with an uppercut to the gut, then an elbow to the face.  He kicked at the man again, but the blow was blocked and countered.  Spike's head snapped back from the force of the jab, blood trickling out of his mouth and down his jaw.  The man kicked, his leg arching towards Spike's head, but the vampire with a soul caught the leg and lifted the assassin into the air.  With a primal growl of rage, Spike threw him into the cold alley wall, flinching at the sickening crunch of impact between flesh and stone.  He swallowed as he watched the man slump against the wall, his faint heartbeat echoing in the vampire's ears.  Spike staggered backwards, his hand pressed firmly against the gaping wound in his left shoulder.  

His mind was numb with the realization that the chip had never fired.

*                      *                      *

Hazel eyes narrowed, fists clenched, and mouth set in a grim line, Buffy looked at the two men approaching her.  The one on the right rubbed the side of his head, fingertips gingerly caressing the developing bruise on his temple.  His eyes darted between Buffy and the assassin beside him, and his tongue darted out and licked across his lips.  He faltered in his approach, body trembling slightly, and focused his gaze on Buffy.  He stared at her for a moment before turning and fleeing the alley.

"Your friend has the right idea," Buffy said.  "Coming after me and my friends was a mistake."

The man smirked.  "He'll soon regret his foolish decision."

"And why is that?  I doubt he'll regret skipping out on the ass kicking he would've gotten."

"Our employers don't accept failure.  Of any kind."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I don't feel like dying tonight."  Buffy ran towards the man, jumped into the air, and sent a flying kick to his chest.  As soon as she landed, she kicked him again, her foot smashing into his nose, then aimed another kick at his stomach.  He blocked, grasped her ankle, and pulled her off her feet, tossing her into a pile of cardboard boxes next to the Bronze.  

Buffy crawled out from beneath the cardboard, breathless from the impact.  She craned her neck and watched the man stalk over to her.  As he approached, her leg swooped out, swinging in a low circle and knocking him to the concrete.  She jumped on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to the ground with her legs, and rained punches down on his face and chest.  He bucked, struggling to flip Buffy off him, but she held firm, the muscles of her legs squeezing his chest and crushing his ribs.  The man twisted beneath her, eventually freeing one hand.  He clutched her throat, fingers digging into the already bruised, tender flesh, as shoved the blonde Slayer off of him.  Gasping for air and blinking away the tears pooling in her eyes, Buffy stood and turned towards the assassin, slipping into a fighting stance as he picked himself up off the ground.

His faced was a bruised and bloodied mass; one eye was swollen shut and blood poured from a cut above his brow.  He charged, his fist lashing out and swinging above Buffy's head as she ducked.  She used his momentum to fling him over her shoulder and send him flying through the air.  He landed, the back of his head colliding with the unforgiving concrete, and lay motionless, a tangled heap of arms and legs unconscious on the ground.

*                      *                      *

Heart pounding in her chest, Dawn slowly backed away from the man, glancing from the stained crimson sword, to the fallen form of Clem, then to the cold, hard eyes of the man advancing on her.  She turned and sprinted down the alley, panic screaming through her as she heard him chase after her.  His hand grabbed her wrist, his grasp tightening, sending bolts of pain shooting up her arm.  She felt the bones of her wrist crack under the pressure and she cried out.  He spun her around, forcing her to face him, and brought the sword before her.  Her wide blue eyes, brimming with tears, watched the blade dance back and forth in front of her face, a swaying column of burgundy signaling the immanent arrival of her death.  

"Say goodnight, girly."

Dawn looked into his eyes, frozen with fear, and gasped as his head twisted viciously to the side, the vertebrae of his neck snapping.  The sword fell to the ground as he crumpled onto the concrete.  Shaking, Dawn focused on her savior, eyes widening at the sight of Clem.  He wobbled, managed to flash Dawn a small smile before staggering a few steps and collapsing again.  

"Clem!"  She rushed over to him, pressing her hands against the blood flowing from the wound on his chest.  She stared into his eyes, watching in horror as his form went slack beneath her blood soaked fingers.  "Oh, god!  Clem!  Answer me!  Clem!"

A movement out of the corner of her eyes caused Dawn to look up.  A woman with long silver hair kneeled next to Clem and pressed her hand against his forehead.  Her large violet eyes flashed, shining brilliantly, briefly illuminating the shadowed alley, and her faced hardened.  She looked at Dawn and said, "He's fading.  Help me get him inside the Bronze." 

Nodding mutely, Dawn helped the woman pull Clem to his feet.  She slipped under one of his arms, supporting his weight as the violet eyed woman moved to the other side of him.  The two drug Clem across the alley, stumbling as they neared the entrance to the Bronze.  A man with slicked back red hair slipped out of the club and hefted Clem onto his shoulders.

"Take him to the back," the woman said.  "Grab the supplies… and some Taymon root a-and a bottle of Fesut oil.  I'll be there in a moment."  She turned towards Dawn as the red haired man disappeared within the Bronze.  "Are you alright?"

"Dawn!"

Racing towards Buffy, Dawn flung her arms around her sister, sobbing, half hysterical.  "Clem!  He-he saved me… but he's h-hurt.  Bad."

"Are you Ok?  Are you hurt?"

Dawn pulled away from Buffy and held her wrist in the air.  "I-I think it's broken.  But o-other than that I'm Ok."

Smoothing a hand over Dawn's hair, Buffy said, "I need to check on the others.  Stay here.  Don't move.  I-"

The violet eyed woman stepped next to the Summers sisters.  She looked at Buffy and said, "I can take her inside the Bronze, if you wish.  My partner took your friend Clem to the back.  He's gathering some supplies that may help save him."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Emilia.  I own the Bronze."

Staring at the silver haired woman before her, Buffy hesitated.  She held onto Dawn's healthy hand, reluctant to release her baby sister into the care of a stranger.  

"It's Ok, Buffy.  She's a friend."

Turning, she saw Spike standing behind her, right hand pressed against his left shoulder.  Her hazel eyes locked with his blue.  She lost herself in the sapphire depths, body and soul trembling with relief at the sight of him.  She tore her gaze away from his face and focused on the wound, concern furrowing the delicate space between her brows.  

"It's not bad.  Had worse before.  Though that isn't necessarily a good thing, now is it?"

Buffy looked into his eyes, still trembling.  She shook her head softly, blinking tears from her eyes, and turned back to Dawn and Emilia.  "Stay with Emilia until I come for you, Ok?"

Dawn nodded.  She gently removed her hand from Buffy's as she glanced at Spike and said, "You Ok?"

"Yeah.  Just a scratch, Bit."

Blue eyes traveling from Spike to Buffy then back again, Dawn drew in a deep breath, the panic and fear that had captured her mind subsiding at the knowledge that her family had survived.  She turned and followed Emilia into the crowded club.   

"Two attacks in two nights," Buffy said to Spike, body tightening with anger as she surveyed the alley behind the Bronze.  "Think they're connected?"

"Don't believe in coincidences much.  Demons last night could have been looking for fun, but these blokes here sought us out.  Someone wants us dead."

_Within a month, the Hellmouth will be ours.  Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Someone wants more than that."  Her gaze darted to the two approaching figures of Anya and Faith.  Buffy's eyes dropped to the wound on Anya's chest; the blood flow from the gash had ceased, leaving a nasty red slash along her chest.  Buffy raised an eyebrow._

"It looks worse than it is," Anya said.  "I'll be fine in a few hours."

"Good.  I need you to get to Giles and tell him what happened.  Gather any books that could help us discover what those brown, thorn-y covered demons from last night were, then meet back up at my house."

"Got it.  Anything else?"

Hazel eyes flickering to Spike for a moment, Buffy said to Anya, "Yeah.  Hang on a sec."  She turned towards Faith, frowning slightly.  "I'm tired of not being in the know.  The leader of the Welcome Wagon's under the door.  Can you get him back to my house and into the basement?  There are some chains you can use to tie him up."

"Yeah.  What about you?" Faith asked.

"Dawn needs to get to the hospital and have her wrist checked out."  She glanced at the wound slicing across Faith's arm.  "First aid kit is in the bathroom on the first floor."

Nodding, Faith walked away, kicking the broken door off of the still unconscious leader.  She bent down and lifted the man, swinging him over her shoulder and heading towards the exit of the alley.  

Buffy looked at Spike again and sighed.  "Clem is in the back of the Bronze.  I don't know how bad he's hurt, and I don't think I'll be able to get Dawn to the hospital unless she knows someone is with him.  Can you stay and help Emilia help him?"

"Yeah."

"As soon as you can, get back to the house.  Preferably with Clem.  I'll need you when I question this assassin guy."

"Right."  Head tilted, he stared into Buffy's eyes, his own blue an emotional storm.  He raised his arm, fingertips lightly caressing the curve of her cheek and the calloused pad of his thumb brushing across her plush bottom lip.  He held the faint embrace for a moment before lowering his hand and silently entering the club.

"What else did you want, Buffy?"

"I want you to tell Giles to stay away from Spike."

Anya arched an eyebrow.  "What?"

"He'll understand.  I doubt he'll confront Spike now, but just in case…  Tonight is not the time for testosterone posturing."

"Did something happen?"  Her question met with silence, Anya rolled her eyes and said, "Ok.  Didn't want to know anyway."  

Anya teleported, vanishing without a sound, leaving Buffy alone in the alley.  The six men in black remained on the concrete, some dead, some unconscious, all conspicuous in the dimly lit alley behind the thriving club.  She felt a presence beside her; out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Emilia walk up to her.  

"Don't worry about them.  I'll take care of it."

"How?"

"I doubt you really want to know."  Her violet eyes, glowing in the moonlight drifting into the shadowed alley, focused on Buffy.  Silence permeated the night as the two women gazed at each other, understanding passing between them.  A small smile appeared on Emilia's face.  "You should go Dawn now.  She'll need to have her wrist x-rayed."

"Yeah."  Buffy sighed again, then walked out of the alley battlefield into the Bronze, leaving Emilia with the mysterious men sent to kill her and her friends.  

Answers were going to be found tonight, about the men, about their employers, and about the demons, one way or another.

*                      *                      *


	17. Preconceptions and Pretense

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

Email: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, etc. 

AN: Sorry for the delay folks.  Thanksgiving, being sick, a couple of papers, and finals all got in the way.  But here's a new chapter.  Many thanks to SpikeLover7 who has devoted a lot of time to this fic.  I appreciate it.  Reviews are wonderful things, so please leave one.

Chapter Seventeen: Preconceptions and Pretense

By: Wynn

            Pale streams of sunlight shone on Sunnydale and crisp winds blew wispy white clouds across the cerulean sky, signaling the dawn of the new day.  The Summers house was quiet as Buffy moved up the stairs to the second floor, a steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands.  She glanced into the living room, hazel eyes focusing on the sleeping form of Giles.  He lay on the couch, an open book resting on his chest, revealing his failure to follow his own command.  He had taken control last night as everyone straggled in, beaten, battered, and bloodied, and slipped into Watcher mode, ordering everyone to get some rest before investigating the two ambushes.  No questions had been asked about the night battle behind the Bronze, not even about the half-conscious man in black shackled to the concrete pole in the basement.  Only a deep sigh had been uttered by Giles before he told everyone to go to bed.  

            Buffy reached the second floor and silently moved down the hall towards her bedroom.  She nudged the door open with her elbow and entered the dark room, softly closing the door behind her.  Placing the mug on the nightstand, she looked at the still, bandaged swathed form in her bed, concern pinching the delicate lines around her eyes and lips.  Bending forward, Buffy examined the multitude of bandages, making sure they had not shifted during the night.

            "I really am Ok."

            Jumping slightly, Buffy smiled sheepishly at Clem before sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Just wanted to make sure.  Slayer's prerogative."  Her eyes flickered to the mug on the nightstand.  "I brought you some tea.  It has some of those herb things Emilia gave you for pain."

            Grasping the mug, Clem inhaled the rich, earthy aroma, a wide smile appearing on his face.  "I would've gotten stabbed in the chest long before now if I knew I'd be served tea in bed by a beautiful woman."

            Buffy arched an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking up at Clem's infectious joy about hot tea.  "Hmm… this is a one time deal, Ok.  No more demon pin cushion for you."  Face sobering, Buffy said, "I wanted to thank you… again.  For saving Dawn.  If there's anything I can do-"

            "You've already done enough.  Like I said before, I'm fine.  One advantage to having all of this skin is I heal fast.  Regenerative powers of the Dermola demon and what not."  Clem peered at the bandages covering his chest.  He frowned slightly and said, "I used to be faster than this though.  In the old days, I would've been able to dodge and block and knock the guy flat without breaking a sweat.  Too much time spent watching TV, I guess."  He shrugged and looked at Buffy again, dark eyes twinkling.  "Not that I'm complaining though.  Life before TV was pretty dull.  All ancient power rituals and ridiculous plots to take over the world.  Two hundred years of that is enough to make anyone, demon or not, wish for a little mindless fluff."  Clem set the mug back on the nightstand and said, "How's Dawn?"

            "She's Ok.  Her wrist was fractured again, and the doctor put her in a sling, which she is not happy about.  She says it itches.  But she should be right as rain in a few weeks."

            "What about you?  How are you doing?"

            "I'm alright.  Kind of sore and a little cranky.  But that's from Dawn.  She's a kicker and a cover hog."  

Buffy's gaze drifted over the bed to floor, onto the figure resting beneath a pile of blankets.  The curled ends of Spike's ash blonde hair peeked out from the layers of cotton quilts.  She stared at the soft strands, mind mulling over the fact that he was now a vampire with a soul.  Shock didn't begin to adequately express her feelings.  Nothing could.  They were a whirlwind within her, a torrent of feeling threatening to overrun her mind and spill out into the world.        

            "He told you," Clem said quietly as he watched emotions flit across Buffy's face.  "Didn't he?"

            "Yeah.  I- I just… Dawn said he fought for his soul because he loves me.  So he could be something more than just an evil, soulless thing."

            "I think she's right."

            Silent, eyes still trained on Spike, Buffy said, "I… I knew… he loved me.  I just… never imagined that it was… deep enough, strong enough for him to change everything.  To give up everything he knew… everything he was.  To go against the demon.  For me.  I… I don't think anyone has ever done anything like that for me before."  

            A hushed contemplation fell over Buffy as her admission sunk into her, burrowing through her preconceived notions of love, of good, and of evil.  Buffy blinked, a faint blush staining her cheeks, and looked at Clem.  Her hazel eyes were filled with tears.  "Sorry about that.  You're all wounded and here I am going on and on about me.  I should go now."  Standing, she walked to the door and glanced back at Clem as her hand closed on the knob.  "You should get some more sleep.  Do you need anything?  Cookies o-or another pillow or anything?"

            "No.  I'm good.  Thank you."

            Buffy nodded once.  Her eyes darted back to the blanket covered form of Spike.  He writhed beneath the quilts, a low pain-filled moan echoing through the bedroom.  Brows drawn together in concern, Buffy stepped away from the door, halting after a few steps when Clem spoke.

"He's dreaming.  He's not in pain.  His shoulder started healing last night and he made sure he got all of the wood splinters out before turning in for the night."  Clem glanced at Spike and said, "He's been having a lot of nightmares."

"I-"

"Don't worry.  He'll be Ok.  He's strong.  Stronger than he thinks he is."

"Is there something I can do?"  

"You already have.  You forgave him and let him back into your life."

"He was never out of it.  He just left town for a while."  Buffy watched Spike for another moment before flashing a small smile at Clem and returning to the door.  She twisted the knob beneath her hand and quietly left the bedroom.

*                      *                      *

            As one door closes, another opens.  That's what everyone says when failure hits hard and knocks you on your ass or life throws a curve ball that smacks you dead in the forehead.  The grass is always greener on the other side, every cloud has a silver lining, and all of the other optimistic bull that's written on the inside of a Hallmark card.  But sometimes the happy hope of something else, of something better than what you have, doesn't exist.  Sometimes all you have is pain.

            From the doorway to the master bedroom, Faith watched Buffy disappear within her room, a cup of healing foul-smelling brew clutched in her hands.  Faith's dark eyes hardened as she moved to the stairs, leaving the bedroom door open, oblivious to the fact that Anya was still inside the room asleep on the bed.  

            She knew there was no magical cup of crap that would cure all of her ills.  

            She spared a glance at a sleeping Giles before turning the corner and drifting into the kitchen.  Edging around the pool of sunlight shining through the small window above the sink, Faith approached the back door, her fingers grasping the cool metal and turning the knob, bracing herself for the exuberance of the early morning.  She grimaced at the harsh light of day, moved outside, and pulled the door to, sitting on the steps leading from the back porch to the yard.

            Her eyes traveled over the suburban environment of Revello Drive, at the crayon green grass and impossibly blue sky, and wondered how the morning could hide the desperation and destruction associated with the night.  How this frail, shallow façade of light could conceal the rough, all-consuming blackness of dark.  The darkness was too brash and seductive, too easy to succumb to when one had no light in life.  

            Faith thought she had clawed her way out of the soul chilling hold of the dark.  She had owned up to her crimes and went to prison willingly, wanting desperately something other than the nothing that filled her to the core.  And then she was released, set loose upon the world, slightly bewildered at her newfound freedom but determined to take advantage of her second chance.  She followed the rules, returned to Sunnydale, and resumed her Slaying duties.  Hell, she even made a friend.  But it was all pretense.  She had fooled herself into believing she was free when all along the clever tendrils of blackness slithered within her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.  The perfect opportunity to be unleashed upon the world.

            She hadn't changed.  And she never would.  She would always be a killer.  

            "Faith."

            Springing to her feet, Faith spun and faced the open kitchen door, heart racing in her chest.  She stared wide eyed at Giles and said, "What do you want?"

            Smiling slightly, Giles closed the door behind him and walked to the edge of the porch.  He yawned, eyes squinting from the sunlight, and sat on the recently vacated step.  "I thought a bit of fresh air would be good.  I find, at times, the house to be very stifling."

            Faith glanced at Giles, dark eyes darting from the seated Watcher to the closed kitchen door.  "I, uh, I'll leave.  Now."  

            "Don't leave on my account.  There's room enough for two."

            Smirking, Faith crossed her arms and said, "What's your angle, Watcher?  Here to ask me about last night?  Impart some sage advice on the finer art of killing?  'Cause I think I have that down fine."

            Giles stared up at Faith, his hair and clothes rumpled with sleep, his grey eyes clear and alert.  "No angle, Faith.  I thought you would like some company."

            Faith gnawed on her bottom lip, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other.  She stiffly uncrossed her arms and sat opposite Giles, as far away from him as the narrow porch step would allow.  Her muscles were tense, her spine ramrod straight.    

            "Did you sleep last-"

            "Slept fine."

            Giles nodded, watching Faith from the corners of his eyes.  They sat in silence, serenaded by the lilting songs of birds, and watched the morning unfold before them.  Faith moved beside him, bare feet scraping against the splintered wood steps.  

            "You ever kill anyone?"

            His brow creasing, Giles shifted and looked at Faith.  She avoided his gaze, fixing her eyes on the ground.  "Yes."

            Faith tilted her head and glanced at Giles from beneath a curtain of dark, tangled hair.  If he was surprised at her blunt question, he didn't show it.  "Did you mean to?"

            "The first time, no.  The second…yes."

            Nodding slightly, Faith looked from the ground into the sky, face impassive, carefully covering herself in a tough shell of disinterestedness. "I didn't.  Not the first time anyway.  He… It all happened so fast.  Didn't know what the fuck I was doing."  She paused and drew in a deep breath.  "Why did you kill 'em?  The second one, I mean."

            "To save lives.  The man was a threat, albeit an indirect one, to Buffy and the others.  The consequences of leaving him alive were too grave, so I did what had to be done."

            "You feel bad about it?"

            Giles shrugged, his gaze perusing the early morning sky.  "I did what was necessary, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it.  However, I am not sorry that the man is dead.  He attempted to trade the life of a fourteen year old girl to ensure his own survival and bring about the end of the world."  He turned and looked at Faith, locking his light eyes on her dark.  He said quietly, "Did you kill last nig-"

            "No!  I…"  Fidgeting, Faith ran her hands through her black hair, roughly pulling through the tangles.  She winced as she yanked a few strands loose.  Her voice was low, a soft murmur, as she said, "I… I wanted to.  I had him right there.  Vulnerable.  Beaten.  Him and his gang attacked us and he cut me with his knife and I just wanted… I could feel it inside me."

            "What?"

            "Power.  I could end him, keep squeezing until he died, if I wanted… I had control…" 

            "But you didn't.  Why?"

            "Fuck!"  Faith pushed off the porch and stalked across the backyard, crossing her arms over her thin black tank top.  "I don't know why!  I just… fucking didn't alright!  Back off, Watcher.  Why don't you go find Buffy and analyze her?  Give her your precious advice 'cause I don't need it!  I don't need anything or anyone."  Faith slowed to a stop, her shoulders hunched, her face concealed beneath her hair.  Her ragged nails bit into the bare skin of her arms.  "I'm fine.  Five by five."

            Giles stood and crossed the dew-covered backyard.  Slowly approaching Faith, he said, "I am your Watcher too.  I know that I-I made mistakes in the past.  I wasn't there for you when you needed someone… when you needed me.  But I am here now and I will not abandon you.  Not again."    He stopped in front of her and gently laid a hand upon her shoulder.  She was shaking beneath his palm.

            "You weren't my Watcher then.  Wesley was."

            "It doesn't matter.  I was still responsible for you."

            "Why would you care about me?  After all I've done…"

            "Because you returned to Sunnydale and faced everyone when you could have run.  Because you've dedicated yourself to patrols and to training.  Because you made a choice last night.  Because you deserve to have someone care about you."

            Faith lifted her head, her dark eyes wide, stripped of all bravado, allowing the frightened young girl to shine through, pleading for help.  Begging for acceptance.  Desperate. "I… I don't want to be a killer.  I don't want to be alone in the dark anymore."

            Standing with Faith beneath the brilliant sun, Giles placed his hand on her head, softly smoothing the raven strands and said, "You're not."  

*                      *                      *


	18. Answers

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, UPN, WB, etc.  They are borrowed for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.

AN: I wanted to get this chapter out now, so it's unbeta'd.  Please forgive any grammar errors.  I checked as thoroughly as I could.  Now that I have 3 weeks free from studying I plan to write quicker and hopefully post two chapters a week.  Reviews are wonderful things, so please leave one.   

Chapter Eighteen: Answers

By: Wynn

            "Generally, I take assassination attempts on my life pretty well.  It comes with the territory.  All sorts of wannabe Big Bads try to prove their mettle by taking out the Slayer.  Some try real hard, too.  They get creative; try more than the standard one-on-one duel to the death.  There was the time that I got locked in a sewer with a faulty weapon and a bunch of demons.  The woman who did that got skewered by her own demonic Frankenstein.  Not pretty.

            "Then three nerds sent this bank robbing demon in an ugly ass shirt after me because I ruined their adolescent fantasy of becoming the next James Bond.  I beat the demon to death with a copper water pipe, and one-third of the nerds was skinned alive and flambéed by my best friend… of course this was after he shot and nearly killed me, so she was a tad pissed.  I mean end of the world rage.

            "Oh… and then there was one vampire who sent the Order of Taraka after me.  You do know who the Order of Taraka was, don't you?  Supposedly wicked assassins dating back to… well, who really gives a shit?  They were old, they were tough, and they were taken out in less than a day.  And you don't even want to know what happened to the vampire who was crazy enough to send them after me.  His fate… Quite shocking really."

            Buffy stopped in front of the chained assassin.  She leaned into him, her hazel eyes sparking with barely restrained rage.  She latched onto his jaw, fingers tightening, knuckles turning white, and forced him to look into her eyes as she continued, "You know what the difference is between all of them and you?  They didn't attack my little sister.  The only tramp who tried that was a psychotic hell god from another dimension, and she doesn't exist anymore.  You made a mistake when you came after me, my friends, and my family."

            Buffy paused, her gaze dropping down to where her hand gripped the blood caked, scar laden jaw of the man in black.  She squeezed, her nails digging into his flesh.  One corner of her mouth quirked up when she saw a faint flash of pain appear in his eyes.  "The way I feel now I would keep squeezing until your jaw crumbled beneath my fingers.  But, lucky for you, it's the only thing keeping you alive.  You will tell me who sent you and your Mafia rejects after me.  And if you value keeping all of your parts you will tell me soon."

            She shoved him away from her, causing the back of his head to smack against the concrete pillar he was chained to.  Turning, Buffy walked away from the captured assassin, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder, and she ascended the stairs leading from the basement to the first floor.  Her eyes flickered down to Giles, who was leaning against the concrete steps, then to Spike, who stood directly in front of the man in black, before exiting the basement.

            As the door slammed behind her, Giles pushed off of the stone steps and moved towards the chained man.  He slowly circled the assassin, his hands polishing his glasses with a soft cloth.  Giles held the glasses up in the air and examined them in the moonlight filtering in through the grimy windows high on the basement walls.  "You must forgive her.  Matters concerning her sister tend to bring out a very… protective aspect of her personality."  

            A wisp of a smile appeared on Giles' face as he replaced his glasses.  "Although I'm sure you know all about Buffy, as well as the rest of us.  You don't seem the sort to enter into a confrontation without knowing everything there is to know about your adversary. In that respect, we are similar.

            "However, as of now, we know very little about you.  Regardless of whether you decide to talk, we will uncover all of the pertinent information.  You can aid us or you can stay silent.  I advise choosing the latter.  That option is the less painful of the two."

            Giles stared at the man, who fixed his blank gaze on the far wall opposite him, ignoring the presence of the Watcher.  With a cool glance at Spike, Giles walked towards the stairs and silently climbed to the ground floor.

            The man's dark eyes flickered to the retreating form of Giles before locking onto Spike.  He raised one eyebrow and said, "You going to give me some intimidating speech, too?"

            Half hidden in shadow, body casually perched against the concrete wall, arms loosely folded across his chest, a wry smirk twisted Spike's lips.  "No.  You may not think much of their interrogation tactics, but those are two of the most dangerous people on the planet."

            "I thought you said you weren't going to do intimidation."

            "It's not intimidation.  It's a fact.  Simple as that."  Spike paused and tilted his head, cerulean eyes piercing the shadowed cellar to examine the man in black.  "Watcher was right.  Someone gave you information about us.  Apparently, it wasn't very good information.  Last night, we were unprepared and unarmed.  Still took you out though.  Now if I were you, I'd be wondering whether the information was purposefully lacking or just piss poor.  'Cause I don't think you're a bloke that takes too kindly to being set up."

*                      *                      *

            Letting the basement door slam behind her, Buffy moved down the hall and entered the dining room.  Clem, Anya, and Faith poured over a multitude of open books that covered the surface of the old oak dining room table; Dawn sat hunched over Willow's laptop, eyes concentrated on the text displayed on the screen.  Buffy walked next to Dawn and smoothed a hand over her hair.  "Found anything yet?"

            Dawn nodded.  She pointed to a large black leather book next to the white computer.  "Is that it?  The thing that attacked you guys?"

            Buffy leaned over the book and inspected the small drawing of the brown thorn covered demon, a perfect replica of the four demons that had attacked her, Spike, and Faith two nights ago.  Her eyes darted down to the caption beneath the picture.  "Yeah.  What is it?  A Larouse demon?"

            "Yes," Anya said.  She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes and looked at Buffy.  "Generally, they're pretty stupid.  They rank low on the totem pole of power within the demon world.  Usually used for grunt work by others.  Their only value is the poison in their thorns.  It's deadly when injected into the bloodstream, but they possess limited quantities that need to be harvested over long periods of time."  She handed a small dusty tome to Buffy and continued, "Larouse demons are like most other animals.  They gather into large packs, organized around a dominant alpha male.  All Id, no Ego there.  Desire driven, not ruled by intellect."

            Lips pursed, Buffy glanced at the tiny print explaining the life and times of Larouse demons.  "Any word on whether there's a new gang of these in town?"

            Clem shook his head.  "I haven't heard anything about any new arrivals.  But then again I'm pretty far removed from the demonic arrivals and departures in Sunnydale."

            Placing the thin brown book on the table, Buffy ran a hand through her gold locks.  She gnawed on the corner of her mouth and glanced at Anya again.  "Up for a trip to Willy's?  He always knows what's going down, what sort of new scheme is being concocted by the resident nasties.  He'll probably know where the closest group of these thorny things are."

            "Sure.  Want me to question him about the assassins from last night, too?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "It couldn't hurt.  Just try not to do too much damage to his place.  A few broken bottles and some barstools should be sufficient in getting the info.  I don't want whoever's trying to kill us know we're trying to find them."

            Anya pouted.  "I can't even rough him up?  Lay the heat on him a bit?  Play the bad cop?"

            Buffy stayed silent, slowly arching one eyebrow at the vengeance demon's enthusiasm for the prospect of beating up Willy.

            Sighing, Anya pushed away from the dining room table and stood from her chair.  She tiled her head from side to side, working out the kinks that had accumulated from hours of research, and said, "Fine.  No roughing.  Maybe just an inadvertent push against a wall or something."  She flashed everyone a bright smile and disappeared from the dining room.

            The sound of the basement door closing reached the room; Giles strolled in from the hall, a puzzled expression upon his face.  "Give who an inadvertent push into a wall?"

            Buffy pulled a chair from beneath the table and slouched into it.  "Willy.  Anya went to question him about the demons that attacked us two nights ago."  She lifted the large black book and passed it to Giles.

            "Ah… Larouse demons.  Don't they melt into a puddle of liquid upon their death?"

            Faith nodded.  "Yeah, nasty sticky shit, too.  It's still stuck to the bottom of my boots."

            A light knock on the front door sounded through the house.  Buffy stood and glanced at Giles before looking at the door, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  She walked towards the windows surrounding the door, peeking through the curtains at the late night visitor, relaxing slightly as her gaze focused on the two forms illuminated by the porch light.  Moving to the door, she pulled it opened and said, "Hey.  What brings you here?"

            Emilia smiled at Buffy and held up a small paper bag.  Standing behind the silver haired woman was the red headed man who had aided her in healing Clem.  "I thought I would check on everyone and bring some more medicinal herbs for Clem.  I can leave these with you if it's a bad time."

            Buffy shook her head and moved aside, pulling the door open wide.  "No, it's not a bad time.  We're researching a bunch of demons that attacked us the night before last."

            Emilia moved inside the house and pointed to the man behind her.  "This is Charles.  He owns the Bronze along with me."  Glancing over her shoulder at Charles, she said, "This is Buffy.  The young girl last night was her sister, Dawn."

            Charles gave a short nod to Buffy as she closed the front door.  Maneuvering around the pair, she led them into the dining room.  She turned back towards Emilia and opened her mouth, preparing to introduce the violet eyed woman and her male companion to the rest of the gang, but she stopped short at the other woman's expression.  Frozen in the threshold between the entryway and the dining room, Emilia's large eyes were wide with shock and fixed upon Giles.  

            Blinking once, Emilia smiled shyly and stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving Giles' face.  "Hello, Rupert.  Or is it still Ripper?"

            Slightly flustered, a warm smile spread across Giles' face as he said, "No.  I left Ripper behind a long time ago.  I-it's Rupert.  Or Giles now."  He glanced from Emilia to Charles and nodded once.  "Hello, Charles."

            "Ripper."

            Turning back to Emilia, Giles said, "When did you arrive in Sunnydale?"

            "I first came here about ten years past and bought the Bronze.  I had to return to Europe five years ago to take care of family affairs, so I left control of the club to a supervisor.  Charles and I just recently returned, about three months ago.  The interim supervisor of the club moved away from the Hellmouth, and we couldn't find a suitable replacement."  She paused, her lilac gaze traveling over Giles, a small smile curving the corners of her lush lips.  "What about you?  When did you decide to leave England?"

            "Oh, well the Council sent me here six, seven years ago to become Buffy's Watcher."  His grey eyes flickered from Emilia to Buffy, who stood next to Dawn.  Both sisters watched the pair with blatant curiosity, a tiny amused grin on Buffy's face and a mischievous glint in Dawn's eyes.  Giles then glanced at Faith, who leaned back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, and stared at the two, one eyebrow arched in interest.  

            "It seems we have an attentive audience," Emilia whispered to Giles.  She moved towards Clem and handed him the paper bag of herbs as she studied his appearance, her eyes lingering on his chest.  "How do you feel today?"

            Grinning, Clem peeked inside of the bag and said, "I feel fine.  The Taymon root was fantastic.  Thank you."

            "I brought you some more.  I wasn't certain how quickly you would heal."  She looked from Clem to Faith.  Holding out her hand, she said, "My name is Emilia.  I didn't have the chance to introduce myself last night."

            Faith shook her outstretched hand.  "I'm Faith."

            Releasing Faith's hand, her violet eyes lingering upon the young brunette, Emilia murmured, "A Slayer."

            Faith stood abruptly, knocking her chair to the floor, and backed away from Emilia, her dark eyes hardening under the intense examination.  "What did you say?"

            Giles stepped between the two women.  "Faith, it's alright.  She means you no harm."

            Emilia peered at Faith from over Giles' shoulder.  "I'm sorry I startled you.  I tend to speak without thinking.  I was surprised.  I thought there was only one Slayer per generation.  But there is you… and Buffy."

            Buffy raised her hand in the air.  "That's my fault.  I have a problem with staying dead, so now there're two of us."

            The basement door slammed again.  A moment later Spike walked into the room, his blue eyes taking in the new arrivals.  He nodded to Emilia before moving to the corner of the room and leaning into the shadow.  

            "Hello, William.  How is your shoulder?"

            "It's better than it was last night."

            "It doesn't hurt?  Do you need anything for pain?"

            "No."

            Giles turned from Faith and stepped towards Emilia, his grey eyes locked on Spike.  Face impassive, he said to Emilia, "You know Spike?"

            Violet eyes darting between the two men, Emilia slid away from Giles and crossed her arms across her chest.  She looked at Buffy and said, "Is there someplace that I would be able to speak to Rupert in private?"

            "Um… sure. You could go in the kitchen or upstairs.  Either one."

            "Thank you."  She pivoted on her heel and walked out of the dining room towards the kitchen, looking over her shoulder and arching one silver brow at Giles and his lack of movement.  Silently, Giles followed her into the kitchen.

            No one spoke in the dining room.  Spike stared at the floor, one corner of his mouth quirked in amusement, and Clem intently focused on the book before him, fighting the smile that threatened to spread across his face.  Dawn pressed her hand over her mouth, attempting to stifle the giggles welling within her.  She glanced at Buffy, whose shoulders were shaking from the effort to control her laughter.  The two sisters locked eyes before they exploded in laughter, tears of mirth streaming down their faces.  

            "Did you see his face when she left the room?" Dawn asked in between gasps for air.

            Buffy plopped into her chair, grinning like an idiot.  "Yeah.  I don't think I've ever seen his eyes bulge that far out of his head before."

            Faith shook her head slowly as a smirk curved her lips.  "Man, Tweed is whipped.  Makes you wonder what sort of history these two have."

*                      *                      *

            Emilia stood before the window above the sink, causing her lustrous silver hair to shimmer in the moonlight shining into the darkened kitchen.  She tilted her head to the side and regarded Giles as he pushed through the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen.  His aura was clouded with anger, a broiling black snaking through the greens, reds, and blues.  "What is your problem?"

            "My problem?  There is no problem," Giles said as he moved opposite Emilia and folded his arms across his chest.

            "Yes, there is a problem.  Your problem with Spike.  Specifically, your problem with my association with Spike.  Are you jealous?  You needn't be.  He is in love with Buffy."

            Voice cold, Giles said, "I know exactly how Spike thinks he feels about Buffy.  He is obsessed with her-"

            "No.  He loves her.  You don't do what he did for a woman you're just obsessed with."

            "That is exactly my point.  His… love makes him a danger to her.  He's already attacked her once.  He-"

            "I'm not talking about danger or attacks or anything that may have happened in the past between them.  I'm talking about giving up the very essence that forms you, that composes the essential piece of yourself, for an unknown potential.  I'm talking about wanting to be more than what fate has dealt you, more than what you think you're capable of becoming."

            "What are you saying?"

            Emilia froze.  She stared at Giles, astonishment plain across her delicate features.  "You don't know, do you?"

            "Know what?"

            "You couldn't have known.  You haven't looked hard enough.  It's plain enough to anyone that takes the time to look, to really see.  But you're blinded by your love for Buffy.  All you see when you look at Spike is a monster who is out to hurt her.  You only see the demon."

            "He is the demon.  He is a vampire.  A demon inhabiting a soulless human body."

            Emilia drew in a deep breath and stepped towards Giles.  Her lavender eyes shone in the shadows, as brilliant as twin amethysts illuminated by the sun.  Her voice was a soft murmur that sliced through the air like a sharp knife and smashed through the barriers of preconceptions with the heavy weight of the knowledge possessed within her simple, truthful words.  "I see more than the demon.  I see the man."

            Trapped, rooted to the spot by her fathomless gaze, Giles blinked as he comprehended what Emilia had said, as he processed the ramifications of what she professed to have seen within Spike.

            Emilia placed a hand onto his cheek, her smooth fingers cupping the rough surface of his face.  "I see his soul.  You have nothing to fear from Spike, save for the wrongs that stem from human passions.  His soul is not an addition to or a restraint for the demon.  It has merged with the demon, altered him in a way I doubt he even realizes.  He is not merely a vampire with a soul.  He-"

            A soft knock on the door shattered the spell that surrounded Giles and Emilia.  She withdrew her hand from his cheek and stepped away as the door to the dining room carefully slid open.

            Buffy peeked inside of the room, a sheepish, embarrassed grin upon her lips.  She took in the overwhelmed look on her Watcher's face and frowned.  "Um… sorry to interrupt, but our captive has opted against the stony silent route.  He's ready to talk.  Thought you'd want to know, Giles."

            Giles slowly nodded his head, his eyes clouded with emotion, his voice flat and hollow.  "Yes…thank you, Buffy.  I'll be right down."

            Buffy looked from Giles to Emilia, the frown still pulling at her features, marring the smooth space between her brows, before she slipped back through the open door into the dining room.  

            "You should get down there," Emilia said as the swinging door swished shut.  "Before they start to wonder.  And before I open my mouth and spill everyone else's secrets."  

            Giles nodded again.  "We'll talk once this is finished."

            "If it's about Spike, you need to speak with him.  I've already jeopardized my friendship with him by saying so much.  But if it's about… other things, you know where I'll be."  

            "Yes.  I do."  Giles pulled his glasses off of his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as he moved towards the door, his shoulders hunched and face lined with the confusion stemming from a multitude of questions with no answers.

*                      *                      *

            The assassin's gaze traveled across the four witnesses to his upcoming revelations.  A sultry brunette slouched on the steps, her hard, dark eyes carefully watching his every move.  The thin blonde, with green eyes alight with fire, stood before him, the power radiating off her like the blinding rays of the sun.  The old man off to his left, a bit worse in appearance, not as calm and self-possessed as before, looking like he might keel over from shock any second.  And the vampire, hidden in the shadows off to his right, lazily perched on top of the washing machine, exuding a nonchalance that hid his readiness for action.  

            The blonde approached him and cocked an eyebrow, annoyance plain on her face.  "You wanted to talk.  We're here to listen.  So talk."

            Dragging his gaze across her tiny frame, he calmly looked at the vampire and began to speak.  "Met the woman in a club in L.A.  She handed me an envelope with your pictures, a videotape, and brief biographies on each and every one of you.  She slipped a second envelope to me, full of cash.  Half of our payment for killing you.  We accepted the deal because it was a hell of a lot of money, but we did our own investigation concerning you and dug up a shit load more than what was in her little dossier.  Her so-called information was crap, a bunch of surface info that would have appeased only amateurs.  Either she didn't know that she was handing over shitty intel or she didn't care that she was giving us shitty intel.  She didn't look stupid, so I'm thinking it was choice number two.  And I'm not a man who takes too kindly to being set up."

            "Who was the woman?"

            The assassin's grey eyes slid over to the blonde, locking with her stony green.  "She didn't give us a name, but just as we investigate our targets, we investigate our employers.  Her name was Lilah.  Lilah Morgan."

*                      *                      *


	19. Necessary Exposition

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, etc.

AN:  No action in this chapter.  It sets up the next few, so it's necessary but not as exciting.  Anyhoo, many thanks to everyone who has reviewed this fic.  I appreciate every one.  So keep them coming!

Chapter Nineteen: Necessary Exposition

By: Wynn

            Lilah.  

            Bitch.  

            Faith slid off the cold basement stairs, her leather pants softly caressing the rough concrete, a faint rustle of fabric in the silent basement.  She inched past Giles and moved into the moonlight, a wicked scarlet smirk on her face, the pale light of the moon causing her dark eyes to glitter.  Slipping past Buffy, Faith walked towards the chained assassin, seized his throat with her hand, and lifted him off the ground, slamming the back of his head against the hard stone pillar.  "**Lilah sent you to kill us?!  What were her instructions exactly?  Did she single any of us out, or just want us all dead?"**

            The man struggled against her iron grip, his gaze darting between Giles, Buffy, and Spike.  Neither of them moved.  He attempted kick at Faith, but she dropped him onto the ground as soon as he lifted his leg into the air.  Climbing to his feet, he glared at her and said, "All she wanted was you lot out of the picture.  No specific instructions on how to kill you or who to get rid of first.  She just wanted all of you dead within the next week."  He looked from Faith to Buffy.  "And that's all I'm going to say.  So either kill me or let me go."

            Faith shook her head and placed her hands on her hips.  "I don't think so, stud.  What about this tape you mentioned?  Who was on it?"

            He met her icy glare and cold questions with silence.

            A slow smile spread across Faith's ruby red lips.  "Are you looking to be tortured?  I can do it if you don't tell me what I want to know.  I can make sure it's nice and slow and painful too, and none of them would be able to stop me.  Hell, they'd probably jump on in and get a piece of the action.  So I wouldn't press your luck with the silence.  Now, before I stop playing nice, who was on the tape?"

            The assassin's flat grey eyes shifted, moving from Faith and latching onto Buffy.  They rested on the blonde Slayer for a few seconds before returning to Faith.

            Buffy moved forward, drawing even with Faith, mouth pressed into a hard line.  She glanced at the brunette out of the corners of her eyes then stared at the chained man before her.  "Both of us were on this tape?"

            He nodded.

            "What are we doing on the tape?"

            The man sighed, an explosive exhalation of dwindling patience and rising exasperation.  "One segment is of the two of you, fighting against each other while the old man over there's watching you two go at it.  Another is just torture lady here training with the junk you call equipment.  The last segment has only you, teaching some random people how to kick men in the nuts."  He looked at Spike, boredom and irritation swirling within his grey eyes, and said, "I'm getting tired of the twenty questions.  I did my part for the greater good.  You got what you want, so either let me go or do me in."

            "How about we do neither and keep you chained to the pillar while we have a little discussion," Buffy said as she walked over to the basement stairs.  She arched one brow and said in a tone full of false sweetness, "Does that work for you?"  Without waiting for a reply, Buffy made her way to the first floor, followed closely by Spike.

            Faith remained next to the assassin, watching him, an electric current of emotions running beneath the surface of her skin, causing her nerve endings to tingle with anticipation, with excess energy waiting to be unleashed.  She moved from one foot to the other and flipped her wild dark hair over her shoulder.

            "Getting antsy girl?  Looking for some action?  How about you let me out of these shackles, and you and me go a round?"

            Suppressing a haughty chuckle, Faith cocked her head to the side and said, "You wouldn't last one second against me."

            "Really, now."

            "Really."

            The man in black slid down the concrete pole, shaking his head softly and regarding Faith through half-closed eyes.  "No, I don't suppose I would," he said as he closed his eyes completely and laid his head against the smooth stone column. 

            Giles walked over to Faith and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "They're waiting for us."

            Nodding, Faith backed away from the chained man, slipping out from under Giles' hand, and turned towards the stairs, slowly ascending to the ground floor.  She moved into the hallway and closed her eyes as she slumped against the wall, her hands tightening into fists.  She drew in a few quick breaths, working to calm her racing heart as the basement door opened again.  Faith pushed off the wall and looked at Giles, dark eyes alight with nervousness.  "Did I… was I… was that too much? Should I lay off the threats of torture next time?"

            Shaking his head, Giles said, "Maybe, maybe not.  In this situation, your threats were applicable.  If it had been a-a less dangerous individual, they probably wouldn't have been necessary."

            "Right.  Gotcha.  So I, um, did Ok?"

            "Yes."

            Faith flashed a small relieved smile then slipped out of the hall into the living room.  She maneuvered past the gathered Scooby Gang and plopped down onto the couch, sitting next to Clem and Emilia.  Charles stood beside the front door, and Dawn sat in the armchair opposite the couch.  Spike crouched next to Dawn while Buffy paced the narrow area before the fireplace.  Giles moved into the threshold between the living room and the hall and leaned against the arched entryway.

*                      *

            Buffy stopped pacing as Giles entered the living room.  The answers given by the assassin had only brought forth more questions and another more dangerous, virtually unknown enemy to fight.  Buffy pushed her fingers through her hair as she turned to Faith and said, "Who's Lilah Morgan?"

            "A lawyer for an L.A. firm called Wolfram and Hart.  They're not your average, everyday bloodsucking lawyers.  They're straight up evil.  Lilah's the one who hired me to… um… to kill Angel a couple years ago."  Faith shrugged and pulled one leg beneath her.  She chewed on a ragged fingernail as she continued, "Pretty ruthless bitch.  She's been after Angel ever since he moved to L.A., but she's never been able to kill him."

            Spike shifted in his position next to Dawn and looked across the room at Faith.  "Isn't that the bird Peaches said might be involved in Con-"  He broke off, mouth closing with a snap, his blue eyes darting towards Buffy.  

            Crossing her arms across her chest, Buffy raised one eyebrow and said to Spike, "Involved in what?"

            Faith spoke, cutting off the vampire's mumbled reply.  "With Wesley.  Angel thought Wes may have given Lilah some info about some case he was working on."

            Giles stepped into the room, his brow furrowed with confusion.  "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?  **He is involved with the woman who supposedly sent the assassins after us?"**

            "Maybe.  Angel doesn't know for sure.  He and Wes had a… disagreement of sorts and Wes left the agency a couple months ago."

            Buffy resumed her pacing of the living room, eyes cast downward as she mulled over the possibility of Prissy Wesley sending assassins after them.  The concept was almost laughable.  "I don't think Wesley would be involved in this.  I mean, I know we all detested him when he was here but not enough for him to want to kill us."  She drew in a deep breath and gnawed on her lower lip.  There was only one way to learn more about Lilah and her involvement in the attempted assassinations.  Go straight to the source.  She glanced at Giles and said, "I should go to L.A. and investigate Lilah and why she wants us dead."

            "Buffy, I'm not sure that's wise."

            "What else can we do?  This isn't some demon we can research in the books, and with Willow gone, none of us are skilled enough on the computer to try to hack into Wolfman and Whatever's files."  She paused and crossed the living room to stand before Giles.  She spoke again, her voice a low murmur.  "Giles, she wanted us all dead, but she specifically taped me and Faith.  Seems to me like she's looking to shed some Slayer blood.  I want to know why."

            "But-"

            "Do you have another idea on what we can do, besides sit here and wait for the next ambush?"  She waited for his reply.  After a few moments of silence, Buffy continued.  "Giles, I want to know for sure if Lilah is the one that sent the assassins after us.  And I want to know now before she sends something else."

            Faith stood and moved towards them.  She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her leather pants as she said, "I could go to L.A."

            Buffy shook her head.  "Too risky.  Lilah's probably waiting for you to resurface to enact some revenge for your failure to dust Angel.  She'll be watching for you.  She might not be watching for me."  She faced Giles again.  "I'll be discreet.  I'll ask Angel for help, where to get info on this chick, what he knows about her.  I'll be fine.  Trust me."

            "I don't want you going alone.  It's too dangerous, especially if this woman is after you particularly."

            "Alright.  I'll go with Spike."  

            "Buffy-"

            Buffy held up her hand, cutting off Giles' protest.  "It's too risky to go to L.A. with Faith.  And if Lilah decides to attack here again, at least one of the Chosen Ones should be in Sunnydale to fight.  I'm not going with Anya.  She doesn't like me, and I don't completely trust her.  Willow and Xander are still in England.  And I need you here to watch Dawn and make sure she's safe."  She paused, her hazel eyes focusing on Spike.  She raised an eyebrow, a silent question, asking if he would go with her.  His cobalt eyes burned into hers as he slowly nodded his ascent.  Buffy stared at him for a moment more, breathless, heart racing, both relieved and nervous about his acquiescence.   She turned back to Giles and said quietly, "Giles, if anything does go down in L.A., I won't have to worry about Spike.  He can take care of himself.  I trust him."

            Removing his glasses, Giles rubbed his fingers across his eyes, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose.  He sighed, a soft, weary expulsion of breath, as he said, "Fine.  Go with Spike.  But make sure to ask Angel for help and call me as soon as you discover anything."

            "I will."  She walked across the living room, tongue darting out and running across her bottom lip.  Glancing at the bare white ceiling, Buffy asked, "Where do you think a camera could be hidden in the training room?  There isn't much there to hide one in, unless it's in one of the pieces of equipment."      

            Giles shrugged.  "Anywhere, I suppose, if the recording device was small enough."

            "I wonder how long it's been there.  The training room wasn't damaged like the rest of the shop, so it could have been planted a while ago.  Can you and Anya search the room tomorrow and try to find it?"

            Giles nodded.  He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and took another step into the room. "What about…"

            Buffy sighed.  "I don't know.  Tyler probably hired me for this, to get information for Lilah and her plan to kill us.  More than likely the job was a set up from the beginning."

            Dawn waved her uninjured hand in the air, her mouth hanging open in shock.  "Ok, for those of us not clued in, your **boss is spying on you?"**

            "Maybe.  Probably.  I wouldn't be surprised.  The guy gave me the major wiggins, all super-nice in the ultra creepy way."  

            "Something's off with him," Spike said as he looked at Buffy.  "Followed him to this massive brick building on Mulholland Drive.  He was looking all around, like he was afraid he was being watched, which he was but he never spotted me.  He had a bag with him, too.  Clutching it to his chest like his life depended upon its survival."

            Buffy's mouth curved into a half grin.  She tilted her head to the side and said, "So you were there, lurking in the shadows, that night."

            A wisp of a smile appeared on Spike's face.  "Wasn't lurking.  Just happened to come across the two of you on my way to somewhere and decided he looked suspicious, creeping around dark alleys late at night."

            Emilia nodded solemnly, her violet eyes bright with amusement.  "Massive black haired lumps of flesh are almost always suspicious looking, especially if they're creeping around alleyways."

            Spike shot a glare across the room at Emilia before he continued, "The bloke disappeared inside the house and didn't come back out.  I doubt it's where he lives though.  The area isn't exactly suburbia."

            Faith grimaced.  "I remember Mulholland Drive.  More demons than people over there.  Mostly abandoned buildings surrounded by more abandoned buildings."

            Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, Buffy said to Faith, "Think you can handle a little breaking and entering?"

            Faith smiled in reply, a wicked curling of her ruby lips.

            "Good.  See if you can find any cameras or more videotapes of us at Mossino's.  If there's nothing there, check out this building on Mulholland.  Who's coming and going, ways to get inside the building, things like that.  Just try not to get arrested, Ok?  Now-"

            Anya strolled into the living room.  She had a cut on her right bicep and a bruise beneath her left eye.  She brushed her hands across her dirty clothes, coughing slightly as a billowing cloud of dust drifted into the air.  Straightening, she flashed everyone a wide smile and waved, golden eyes sparkling with excitement. 

            "Um, Anya… what happened to you?"

            Anya glanced at her disheveled appearance.  She looked up at Buffy and said, "Bar fight.  Willy said the closest pack of Larouse demons was spotted in L.A. four days ago by a couple of Fyarls."

            Faith leaned forward and inspected her friend, a tiny smile playing on her lips.  Raising one eyebrow, she said, "Do any damage?  Or were you just an innocent bystander?"

            Anya grinned.  "Oh, I did lots of damage.  I didn't start it though.  It's a funny story actually.  You see-"

            "Did Willy know who sent the thorny demons?"  Buffy asked.

            Frowning at the interruption, Anya shook her head no.

            "Didn't think he would, but at least we know where they came from."  Turning towards Spike, Buffy said, "Are you ready to leave tonight?  If the assassin guy was telling the truth and Lilah wants us dead within the week, we don't have a lot of time.  Hopefully we'll only be in L.A. for a day or two."

            Spike stood.  "Yeah.  I need to stop by my place and get some clothes and a few weapons.  Should only be twenty minutes or so."

            "Ok.  Meet me back here when you're ready."  Buffy watched Spike move across the living room; he slipped out of the house and into the cool night air.  She turned to Giles and said, "Can you check Mom's car and make sure it's running properly.  I don't really want to ride all the way to L.A. on Spike's motorcycle."

            "The keys?"

            "In the ignition.  The driver's door is unlocked."  

*                      *

            Closing the front door to the Summers home, Giles walked to the edge of the porch.  He could see Spike at the end of the driveway, the white light of the moon highlighting the pale bleached tips of his ash blonde hair.  His ever present duster was missing; he was clad in a torn and bloodied black shirt and a pair of jeans.  Emilia's revelation about Spike's soul whispered in Giles' consciousness.  _He is more than a vampire with a soul.  __It has merged with the demon.  The concept was unprecedented, absurd, and impossible.  _

            "Planning to stare at me all night, Watcher?  Or do you have some warning about how you'll stake me if anything happens to Buffy you want to say?"

            Stepping off the porch, Giles walked down the driveway towards Spike, his grey eyes never wavering from the black clad vampire.  "When did you acquire your soul?"

            Spike blinked once and folded his arms across his chest.  Smirking, he said, "You got the wrong vampire, Rupert.  The Great Poof is the one with the soul."

            "I wouldn't lie to me, Spike.  The possibility of you possessing a soul is the only thing keeping me from staking you.  After what you did to Buffy-"

            "Save it.  I don't need your disgusted, disapproving lecture on how much I hurt Buffy or how much of a monster I am."  Spike looked at the concrete, his blue eyes flashing with anger, guilt, and remorse.  He spoke again, his voice soft, barely audible.  "Everyday, every second, I live with what I did.  I can't change it.  Can't ever make it up to her.  But I made sure it would never happen again."

            "The return of your human soul."

            "I see her every night.  Hear her crying, screaming at me to-to… feel her trying to push me away.  I see what I did to her.  The pain in her eyes, the betrayal.  The shock and disgust."  He looked up at Giles.  His eyes were haunted, pale shells of the brash, cocky, and irritating vampire that had created a hundred years of chaos, violence, and pain with a smile on his face.  "I hate myself.  More than you ever can.  More than you even want to.  The only reason I didn't stake myself after I apologized to Buffy is because she asked me to stay.  Her and Dawn asked me to stay.  I don't deserve their forgiveness and I never will.  But I will do anything I can to ensure their happiness.  Even if that means spending eternity reliving every kill, every bout of torture, every scream of pain.  I don't matter.  I'm not important.  They are."

            "Yes.  They are."

            "If anything happens to Buffy or Dawn it'll be because I'm already dead.  And even then I'll do everything I can to protect them."  Spike stared at Giles a moment longer then turned and walked into the night, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, face hidden in shadow to mask the raw pain shining from his eyes.

            Giles watched him walk down the road and disappear around a street corner, their brief, impassioned conversation replaying over and over in his mind.  He closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath.  

            "Do you believe me now, Rupert?"

            Opening his eyes, Giles glanced at Emilia, who stood beside him.  Her wide violet eyes were directed in the direction Spike had traveled.  She tilted her head and looked at him from beneath silvery-white eyelashes as he said, "Yes."

            "He loves Buffy and Dawn more than he hates himself.  They are his family.  They are the reason he has not killed himself in retribution for his sins."  She paused, looking over her shoulder at the Summers house.  "Buffy's waiting for you inside.  Charles has looked at their automobile and found it satisfactory for travel.  It needs some petrol though."

            "Thank you."

            "You don't need to thank me.  It's the least I can do.  If you should require anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

            "I won't."

            Emilia smiled.  She locked eyes with Giles and said, "Good.  I… I never thought I would see you again.  It's funny how fate chooses to unfold."  She smiled again as she flipped her long, silver hair over her shoulder.  Stepping away from Giles, Emilia moved to the edge of the driveway, Charles a few steps behind her, and said, "I'll see you soon."

            "Yes."

            As Emilia and Charles walked down Revello Drive, Giles returned to the porch and reentered the house.  The living room was empty.  Glancing in the dining area, he found Anya, Faith, and Buffy looking through the books covering the oak table.  Buffy glanced up from her book as he walked into the room.

            "Clem's going to stay here for a few days.  When the basement's free, he'll move down there so you can take my room.  Clem's not fully healed yet so I thought it would be safer for him to stay."  Buffy paused.  She glanced at Faith and Anya as she stood and walked over to Giles.  Sliding past him, she moved into the living room.  As Giles turned to follow her, she said, "I think you should call the coven and see if Willow is ready to return.  If these attacks keep coming, we'll have a better chance of fighting back if Willow and Xander are here.  Strength in numbers."

            Giles nodded.  "I'll call tomorrow."

            "Ok."  A faint smile appeared on Buffy's face as she said, "You're going to have your hands full if Willow and Xander come back soon.  They hate Faith, and she hates them.  Xander and Anya are still fighting, and Willow and Anya have never gotten along.  Dawn is still angry with Willow, and she's pretty pissed at Xander, too."

            "Yes, it's amazing they haven't all killed each other yet."

            Peering into the dining room at Faith and Anya, Buffy slowly nodded her head, a faraway, contemplative expression upon her face.  She bit the corner of her lip as she murmured, "Yeah.  Amazing."  Blinking, she flashed Giles a smile as she maneuvered past him and up the stairs.  "Got to get some stuff together, clothes and some weapons."  Buffy reached the second floor landing and quickly made her way to her bedroom, opening the door and sliding into the darkened sanctum.

*                      *                      *


	20. Choices

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, etc. own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer and __Angel.  I do not.  I just borrow them to tell my completely profit-free, entertainment-only story._

AN: _Italics represent Buffy's thoughts.  Chapter's shorter than usual, but I wanted to post before the holidays.  The next chapter will hopefully be posted a few days after Christmas.  Definitely before the New Year.        _

Chapter Twenty: Choices

By: Wynn

            The midnight sky was a blur shooting past the speeding SUV, the black marred only by occasional globes of blinding white light, descending upon the velvety darkness from the curved streetlights high above the interstate.  The passenger window was down, allowing the cool ocean breeze to whip into the car, tossing Buffy's long golden hair around with wild abandon.  She leaned her head out the window, drawing in the crisp winds, letting them flow over her, cooling her flushed skin.  She was nervous and desperately trying to hide it.

            Slipping back inside the car, Buffy rolled up the window and sat back against her seat.  Her eyes darted to the side, covertly observing Spike from beneath her lashes.  He had one hand slung over the steering wheel, casually guiding the car down the vacant highway, while the other was propped against the window, the tips of his fingers playing with the fraying edges of the fabric covering the roof.  Snapping her gaze down to her lap, she trailed her fingers across her smooth grey seatbelt and said, "So.  What did Angel say on the phone?"

            "About what?"

            _About what.  The voice in her head repeated the phrase over and over again until a multitude of little Buffy's chirped the innocent words in a jarring melody of annoyance.  __About this.  You and me going to L.A.  Together.  "About Lilah?"_

            "Oh.  He was surprised she and the rest of the evil crew hadn't set their sights on the Hellmouth before now."

            "He didn't, uh, say anything else?"

            "Not really."

            Buffy nodded, an absentminded shake of her head, as she gritted her teeth to stop the question she wanted to ask, needed to ask from escaping her lips.      

            "We weren't on the phone very long, you know," Spike continued, glancing at her as the car passed under a streetlight.  

            Buffy unclenched her jaw and forced a smile to appear on her face.  "Yeah, I know.  Just curious.  Like a cat."  _Oh god.  Shoot me now.  She turned her head back to the window and chewed on her lower lip.  She watched the exit signs fly by, ticking off the rapidly disappearing miles, and estimated the time of arrival to L.A.  What was she going to say to him, about her and Spike?  Not that she cared about what Angel thought of how she was living her life; he had given up the privilege to comment upon it long ago.  It was just that the trip would go a hell of a lot smoother if he didn't revert into Angelus mode upon learning about the events of the last few years, especially the more… physical aspects of her relationship with Spike.  _

            She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at the wind induced tangles, and shifted in her seat.  She would just walk up to Angel, nice and slow, and state calmly-

            "He already knows."

            Buffy blinked, a faint frown pulling at her lips.  She looked at Spike and said, "What?"

            His blue eyes staring straight ahead, glued to the road visible through the windshield, Spike said, "Angel knows.  About us."

            Twisting in her seat so she could face Spike, Buffy leaned back against the passenger door and crossed her arms across her silk and lace black tank top.  "You told him?  Were you looking to be staked?"

            "No.  I was looking for help."

            "For help?  What for… Oh.  Help of the vampire with a soul variety."

            Spike nodded.

            Drawing her legs underneath her, Buffy inspected the cuticles of her fingernails as she said, "So what did he say?  When he found out?"

            "Not much."  Spike shrugged.  He pushed his fingers through his bi-colored hair and continued, "He didn't believe me at first.  That we had been… together.  Then when he did, he wanted to kill me."

            "So why didn't he?"  Hazel eyes widening, Buffy looked up at Spike and said quickly, "Not that I want you dead o-or him to kill you.  I meant, why didn't he want to?  He kicked Riley's ass up and down Main Street.  Well, I think Riley picked a fight with Angel first, so really, Angel was defending himself.  But… Sorry, off topic.  I figured Angel would freak out and stake you, not invite you to live in his hotel."

            "At first, he wanted to.   Stake me, that is.  He couldn't though.  Wasn't physically up to it.  Then he figured you'd get pissed if he interfered in your life again without you knowing about it.  And there was the fact that I had a soul."  He glanced at her, his eyes hidden in shadow.  Voice low, Spike said, "Did you not want him to know?"

            Buffy shook her head.  "I don't care if he knows.  I was thinking of how to tell him myself.  I just don't want to have to deal with any irrational overprotective-ness he might exhibit."  _Among other things, including the intense scrutinizing of **me and how I feel about ****you that I know will come as soon as I step into his hotel.  "I get enough of the manly man protective vibe from Giles and Xander when it comes to you and our, um, relationship… friendship… thing."**_

            "They only want what's best for you."

            Buffy arched an eyebrow.  "Aren't I supposed to decide what's best for me?"

            "Yes.  They just want you to be safe and happy, that's all."

            Straightening in her seat, Buffy gazed at Spike, her hazel eyes alight with confusion.  "What's the deal?  Why are you all supportive of their disapproval over our friendship?  Is this some way of telling me that you don't want to be friends anymore?"

            "No, that's not-"

            "Do you think it would be **best for me if we weren't friends?"**

            "Maybe."

            Mouth falling open in shock, Buffy stayed silent for a minute.  She blinked a few times and shut her mouth with a snap, attempting to wrap her mind around the 'maybe,' around the possibility that he thought they shouldn't be friends.  Buffy closed her eyes, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, the faint flames of fury beginning to ignite in her gut.  

            "Buffy-"

            "Do you want to know what I think, Spike?" she asked softly, her voice a deadly murmur, as she opened her eyes.  "I think you spent way too much time with Angel.  You are not allowed to follow in his footsteps and decide I'm better off not having you in my life.  You won't walk away from me just because you think it's what's best.  You do not get to make those kinds of decisions for me.  I am a grown woman, not a child, and I am able to decide how I want to live my life and who I want to be a part of it.  Now, if **you don't want to be involved in my life, then tell me straight out.  I deserve that much."**

            "You deserve more!  More than friendship with something like me!  You-"

            "What is this about really?"  She tilted her head to the side, peering through the darkness to look into his eyes.  He was avoiding her gaze, staring out the windshield.  "Because it's not about me."

            Hand slamming against the steering wheel, Spike turned towards her, his voice wrought with emotion.  "It is always about you!  Being friends, or whatever the hell we are, is dangerous for you.  You are risking more pain."  

            She watched him, silently, taking in the curve of his shoulder, the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel.  He was trembling.  From what, she wasn't sure.  Softly, she said, "Are you going to hurt me?"

            "No.  Never."  He drew in a deep shuddering breath and said, "But I might hurt someone else."  Spike turned his head and locked his tormented indigo eyes onto her calm hazel.  "The chip.  Doesn't work anymore."

            A few moments passed before Buffy burst into laughter.  She curled into a ball, body shaking with the force of her giggles.  She tried to compose herself, but the absurdity of the reason for their conversation caused her to laugh harder.  Her giggles died down after a few minutes, fading into the silence that stretched over his half of the automobile.  Buffy slouched against the passenger door, shaking her head in disbelief.  "This is all about the chip?  I already know."

            "You know it doesn't work on you.  Now-"

            "-it doesn't work on anyone.  I know."  She paused, pulling one leg close and setting her chin upon her knee.  "You fought against the assassins.  Against humans.  Without the massive migraine attack.  Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

            "Without the chip, I'm dangerous."

            Buffy shook her head.  "Without the chip, you're just like everyone else.  Free to make a choice.  About what you want to do and what you want to become.  That doesn't make you dangerous.  It makes you human."  She reached out, brushing his ash blonde curls off his face, the tips of her fingers threading through the silky strands.  "I'm not afraid of the choice you'll make.  You wouldn't have fought for your soul if all you wanted was to return to killing."

            One tear slid down his face, forging a brilliant, glistening, moonlit trail across the curve of his cheekbone.  "The soul doesn't mean I will never kill again.  What if it isn't enough to control the demon?  What if… Buffy, if that happens, you'll have to stake me.  And I don't want you to have to do that.  Not after everything…"

            "I won't have to," Buffy said.  "A soul doesn't mean you'll automatically do the right thing or never make another mistake.  It gives you the opportunity to do what you want.  Whether that's good or evil.  But I think you've already made that choice."  She paused, trailing her fingers through the curled ends of his hair.  A half-smile curved her lips as she said, "So cut the crap about how maybe we shouldn't be friends.  You say it again then I'll have to stake you."

            "Buffy-"

            "No.  You made your choice and I made mine.  You can't-"

            Spike grabbed her hand, stilling the exploration through the tips of his hair, and held it within his own.  He turned his azure eyes on her, a wisp of a smile playing upon his lips.  "Thank you."

            Glancing down at their joined hands, Buffy smiled, the blush returning to her cheeks.  She looked into his eyes and whispered, "You're welcome."  She held his gaze for another moment before turning towards the window and watching the blurred night sky, her hand still curled within his own.  Her free hand moved toward the door and twisted the small grey knob, lowering the passenger window, flooding the interior with the cool winds.

            _Angel is so going to freak out._

_            Her eyes flickered back to Spike.  Then to their clasped hands.  _

_            Big time._

_            "Buffy?"_

            Tilting her head towards Spike, she said, "Yeah?"

            "There's something else I need to tell you," Spike said as he glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.  "It's about Angel.  And his son Connor."

            _What?!?           _

*                      *                      *


	21. Power Play

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc. own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer and __Angel.  I do not.  I borrow them to tell my story, not for profit.  _

AN:  Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story.  They are wonderful, so keep them coming.  

Chapter Twenty-One:  Power Play

By: Wynn

            Angel sat at his desk, fingers deftly flipping through random case files, his mind preoccupied on his soon-to-be arriving guests.  Spike and Buffy.  Buffy and Spike.  The two of them.  Together.  Alone.  Willingly.

            Frowning slightly, Angel laid the manila folders on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair.  He hadn't heard from Spike since he had returned to Sunnydale.  Faith had mentioned in their last phone conversation that Spike had been in contact with Buffy, but she had been typically indifferent and unusually hostile about all matters concerning the blonde Slayer.  Had Buffy accepted Spike's apology?  Were they friends?  Or could they barley hold a civil conversation?  The latter seemed unlikely since Spike was accompanying her to L.A.  

            What if they were more than friends?  Angel grimaced as a mental image of Buffy and Spike kissing invaded his consciousness.  That wasn't a sight he wanted to see.  Ever.  Angel hoped the two were able to work together without bickering or fighting or kissing or groping.  He didn't want to have to play babysitter to the two blondes.  Being a father to an unruly, uncooperative, uncommunicative seventeen year old demon killer was stressful enough.

            "Any word on our two wayward guests, Tall, Dark, and Broody One?"

            Glancing at Lorne, Angel straightened in his chair and placed his elbows on his desk, supporting his chin with his clasped hands.  "No.  They should be here soon."

            "Good," Lorne said as he sat in one of the two chairs opposite Angel.  "I'm dying to meet these blondes from your past.  Here's hoping they're more agreeable than the other blonde from your past."  Lorne shook his head.  "Darla was full of surprises, though, to say the least.  She's a vampire, she's human, then she's a vampire again.  And popping out the bundle of sweetness and light that is your son was the end all and be all of surprises."

            "Connor's gotten a lot better since he came back."

            Lorne nodded solemnly.  "Yes.  That is if you consider 'better' evolving from moody silences and intense glaring to more moody silences and intense glaring."

            "At least he's stopped trying to kill us."  Angel paused.  "Well, except for that time right after you got back from Vegas.  But Connor didn't really mean it.  He…"  Off Lorne's look, Angel sighed and rose out of his chair.  Maneuvering past the dark wood desk, he left his office, moving into the hotel lobby.  Fred sat before the agency computer, her dark glasses perched high on her nose, her face close to the screen.  

            "Found anything?" Angel asked as he peered over her shoulder at the computer.

            Fred shook her head and looked at Angel.  "No.  There isn't any connection between Lilah and Sunnydale in Wolfram and Hart's files.  A few mentions of the Hellmouth in connection to you but not anything else.  If Lilah really wanted to take out your friends on in Sunnydale, I doubt she'd be careless and leave traceable computer records."

            "Worth checking out just in case.  Thanks, Fred."  Angel looked up from the computer, his dark gaze searching the empty lobby.  "Gunn and Connor aren't back yet?"

            Fred slid off her stool and backed away from Angel and the computer.  She stopped next to Lorne, glancing at him before briefly looking at Angel.   "Um, Charles called a few minutes ago.  They should be back soon.  Any minute now."

            Angel glanced between Fred and Lorne.  Neither looked at him.  Angel sighed again and rubbed his fingers across his temples to stave off the teenage son induced migraine.  "What happened now?"

            Lorne shrugged.  "Nothing, really.  They had a slight disagreement… again."

            "What was it this time?"

            The twin front doors to the hotel burst open.  Gunn stormed into the lobby, covered from head to toe with grime and filth.  His axe was broken, the end of the handle dangling, hanging by a few slivers of wood.  "I don't care if you're John Wayne, Conan the Barbarian, and the Lone Ranger all in one, little man!  You follow my orders!"

            Connor slunk into the hotel, arms folded across his chest, one sleeve of his T-shirt torn and bloodied.  "I had an opening.  I took it."

            Throwing his axe to the floor, Gunn whirled, coming face to face with Connor.  "No!  What you did was deliberately disobey my order and my plan!  Again.  Which caused an all out brawl that could've gotten real ugly real quick if the rest of their crew had been there."

            Smirking, Connor said, "Didn't know you were scared of fighting, Gunn."

            "Scared?"  Gunn laughed as he shook his head slowly.  A humorless smile crossed his face as he said, "I'll show you scared."  He lunged at Connor, catching him in a vicious tackle.  The two men sailed across the hotel lobby, crashing through the glass double doors leading to the hotel's courtyard.  They rolled down the stone steps, colliding with the patio's massive granite fountain.  

            Angel, Fred, and Lorne stared at the broken doors.  Shaking out of his shocked stupor, Lorne stepped next to Angel and placed a hand on his shoulder.  "Glad to see the little hellspawn is reintegrating himself into the group and not trying to kill us anymore."

            Closing his eyes, Angel drew in a deep calming breath.  Hundreds of years spent in hell, over a hundred years of living with Darla, Dru, and Spike simultaneously, three years of living and working with Cordelia.  Incalculable hours spent brooding and honing his patience to precision so he could handle anything, anyone without breaking a sweat.  And it was all shot to hell by his son in less than two months.  

            The mighty power of the teenage boy.  

            Angel set off across the lobby, stepping through the smashed glass doors into the courtyard.  Gunn and Connor had taken the fight into the fountain.  Through the shooting sprays of water and flying elbows, growls of pain and muttered curses, Angel saw Buffy and Spike.  They stood near the street entrance to the courtyard, bags still in hand, shocked and amused expressions on their faces as they watched Connor and Gunn grapple in the leaf strewn, muddy water of the fountain.

            Striding across the patio, Angel grasped the back of Gunn's T-shirt and hauled him out of the water.  He grunted as Gunn elbowed him in the stomach, his grip loosening enough for Gunn to wriggle free and launch himself at Connor again.  Angel heard soft laughter; he looked at Spike, his brown eyes narrowing as he saw Spike quickly stifle his laughter and plaster a fake, innocent smile on his face.  "Would you care to help me, William?  Or do you want to make me really angry and remain standing there while they try to kill each other?" 

            Chuckling, Spike set his bag onto the stone tiles and moved towards the fountain.  He grabbed Connor's arm as Angel latched onto Gunn.  The two vampires tore the irate men away from each other, dragging them to opposite ends of the courtyard.  

            Angel stumbled up the stone steps to the lobby, dragging a dripping wet Gunn behind him.  He pushed the soaked man into the hotel and said, "Go inside and get cleaned up.  I'll talk to Connor.  Again."

            "Whatever, man."  Without looking back, Gunn reentered the hotel, leaving puddles of muddy water trailing after him.

            "Hey!  What the-"

            Angel spun, his dark eyes locking onto Connor and Spike.  Connor had a stake clasped in his hand, which he brought down towards Spike's chest.  Sprinting across the courtyard, Angel skidded to a halt as the stake flew from Connor's hand and the boy toppled to the ground, his face pressed into the cold stone tiles by a livid Buffy.

            Connor wriggled beneath Buffy, attempting to throw her off him.  "Let me go!"

            "Uh uh, junior."  Buffy tightened her hold on the back of his neck and mashed his face harder into the ground.  "Don't even try moving unless you seriously want me to kick your ass."

            Angel took a few steps towards the pair.  He flinched as Buffy dug her elbow into Connor's neck.  "Uh, Buffy?"

            "What?"

            "I think you can let him up now."

            Buffy shook her head.  She glanced up at Angel, her hazel eyes flashing with anger.  "Not until he apologizes to Spike and Gunn."  Connor squirmed again, prompting Buffy to smack him across the back of his head with her free hand.

            "That might be a while," Lorne said as he gingerly stepped through the demolished doors.  He walked across the patio, a broad grin appearing on his face as he watched Buffy and Connor.  "The word 'sorry' isn't a part of the little whippersnapper's vocal."

            Buffy shrugged.  "I got time."

            Angel looked at Spike.  He pointed to Buffy, silently prodding the blonde vampire into prying Buffy off of Connor.  Spike glanced at Buffy then at Connor before settling his blue gaze on Angel again; he shrugged and walked around the Slayer and teenage demon killer, plopping into one of the wrought iron chairs circling the fountain.  Scowling at Spike, Angel took another step forward and said, "Buffy-"

            "No.  These past few days have been a tad stressful and there is no way in hell I am going to put up with his attitude while I'm here.  When he acts like a good little boy and says he's sorry, I'll let him up."

            Grin growing wider on his face, Lorne sat in the chair next to Spike as he said, "I like her."

            Spike smiled.  "Me, too."

            "I'm Lorne."

            "Spike."

            Angel looked around the courtyard, taking in the glinting shards of glass from the smashed doors strewn across the patio tiles; his ex-girlfriend, the Vampire Slayer, straddling his son, the child of two vampires, holding him facedown on the concrete while she waited for an apology; his grand-Childe, the 130 year old pain in the ass souled vampire, chatting with the green skinned, red eyed, horned demon from another dimension who moonlighted as a Vegas lounge singer.  Angel sighed, shook his head, and sat next to Lorne and Spike, waiting for his son to get a clue and apologize to the tiny blonde California girl who had taken him down in less than a second.  

*                      *                      *  
  


            Five of the six members composing the Inner Circle sat in their assigned chairs surrounding the gleaming cherry table, all waiting for the sixth member to arrive.  Never had a member been late to one of their clandestine meetings.  It was not allowed.  The man in charge detested anything that interrupted his schedules, so meeting times were strictly followed.  The man was easier to deal with and their meetings were shorter when he was not irritated.     

            The man in charge glanced at his watch, eyes hardening as he realized she was twenty minutes late.  **Twenty.  He shifted in his chair, his gaze darting to the man opposite him, taking in the other's nonchalant slouch in his plush leather chair.  The head of the Inner Circle frowned at the man's subtle disrespectful demeanor; his behavior of late had become impossible to predict, making him potentially very dangerous to the man in charge.  But that was not the man's primary concern.  Not when his second in command had gone rogue.**

            The heavy door at the end of the narrow hall slid open and the second in command of the Inner Circle strode into the lush meeting hall.  Her stride was slow and confident, showing no signs of nervousness at her obvious tardiness.  She approached the gleaming oak table, flashing the other members a carefree grin as she moved towards her chair.

            "It is very gracious of you to bless us with your presence, Lilah," the man in charge said as Lilah took her customary seat to his right.  "Perhaps you may arrive on time at our next gathering."

            Lilah set her briefcase on the floor beside her.  She smoothed a hand over her thick auburn hair and crossed her legs beneath the circular table.  "Something suddenly came up that required my immediate attention."

            "Yes, well, would that something have anything to do with the assassins you sent after Buffy Summers and her cohorts?"

            Lilah leaned back in her chair and casually crossed her arms across her chest.  "No.  It was Wolfram and Hart business.  I've been so swamped ever since the Senior Partners promoted me to the head of Special Projects."

            The man smiled, a small cold grin twisting of his lips.  "Apparently your business with the firm has not prevented you from implementing your own plan to eliminate the Slayers.  Although you must not have devoted much time and energy to these assassins of yours, if their lack of success is any indication."

            Lilah shrugged.  "They served their purpose.  And they did more damage to Buffy, Faith, and the rest than your band of Larouse demons."

            "Did you give any consideration to the fact that they could be tracked back to you, leading the Slayer directly to us and severely interfering in our plans for the Hellmouth?"

            Barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the man's obsession with secrecy, Lilah said, "I thought about it.  The possibility of the gang in Sunnydale discovering my connection to the assassins doesn't concern me.  Any action taken by me against them will look like an assault from Wolfram and Hart itself, especially if they turn to Angel for help in learning all there is to know about little old me.  Becoming involved with the Hellmouth will seem a natural extension from our dealings with Angel."  Lilah paused.  Her gaze flickered around the table, pausing on each member, settling on the man to her right.  She almost chuckled at his unconcerned posture and appearance.  Dissension among the ranks.  Returning her dark eyes to the man in charge, she said, "Plus, there isn't any sort of record connecting me to all of you.  When you approached me to join your Circle of six, you were very discreet.  I doubt even the Senior Partners know about this.  So your secret's safe with me."

            Flushing with anger at her indifferent tone, the man straightened in his chair.  His voice was flat and cold as he said, "These meetings shall remain secret.  If they do not remain so, I'm afraid unfortunate consequences will occur."

            Lilah arched one eyebrow at the man's threat.  She leaned forward, setting her clasped hands on the dark wood table.  "Any consequences would be unfortunate indeed.  For me and for you.  You see all I have to do is breathe one word to the Senior Partners and all of your little plans will vanish like a puff of smoke.  One word.  Hellmouth.  Interest will be piqued, especially due to the Slayer's connection to Angel, and action will be taken.  And there is nothing you would be able to do to stop it.  Nothing."  Lilah smiled again as she rose from her chair.  Grasping the handle of her briefcase, she locked eyes with the man in charge and said, "I'm afraid I must be going.  I have a meeting tomorrow with the Senior Partners I need to prepare for.  If anything… important is discussed in the rest of this meeting, you can contact me through the usual channel."

            Lilah backed away from the table.  She turned and walked towards the exit, hips swaying, shoulders pushed back, and chin held high.  She grasped the smooth brass handle and opened the door, sauntering out of the meeting hall into the crisp night air.

*                      *                      *


	22. Reunion

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer and __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed.  I love all of your feedback, so keep it coming.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Reunion

By: Wynn

            The door creaked open, the scrape of the hinges stirring the man sprawled across the king sized bed.  Angel peeked into the room, quirking one eyebrow at Spike, who laid facedown on the midnight black sheets, the top of his head and the soles of his feet sticking out from beneath the satin fabric.  Moving into the room, Angel pushed the door shut with his elbow, readjusted his grip on the two mugs of warm blood clasped in his hands, and made his way across the dark bedroom.  He set one steaming cup on the nightstand beside the still slumbering Spike and turned on a small lamp, filling the room with soft light.  Angel pulled a wicker rocker from the corner of the room over to the bed and slowly sat onto the chair, a half grin appearing on his face as the wicker twisted and groaned, the sounds echoing throughout the bedroom and causing Spike to squirm some more.  The ash blonde pried open one eye and scowled at Angel from beneath the black blanket.

            "Morning, sunshine," Angel said brightly.  He took a sip from his mug, twisting the ceramic cup in his hand.  He cocked his head to the side as he said, "Actually, I should say 'Mid-afternoon, sunshine' since it's about 3pm, but that sounds weird, doesn't it?"

            Spike closed his eye at Angel's grating cheeriness.  "And a Master Vampire named 'Angel' is perfectly normal?" he asked as he reopened his eyes.  Spike pushed himself into a sitting position and yawned, blinking his eyes blearily as he groped for his cup on the nightstand.  He drained the crimson contents in one gulp, his eyes watering as the fiery liquid slid down his throat.  Bringing the mug close to his nose, Spike sniffed.  He drew back, blue eyes flashing with fury, and hurled the mug at Angel.  "What the hell did you put in there, you wanker?!"

            Dodging the flying cup, Angel shrugged innocently and said, "Just some cayenne pepper and a bit of hot sauce.  Only one bottle.  Maybe two.  And a bit of vinegar for flavor.  Lucky for you, we were all out of garlic or I would have thrown some of that in there too."

            Dragging a hand across his eyes, Spike wiped at the tears and said, "Are you still mad 'cause I wouldn't help you last night?  It was your son that started everything.  Not me."

            "You could have helped."

            Tilting his head to the side, Spike raised one eyebrow and said, "I did help.  I pulled your kid out of the fountain and almost got staked for it."

            "You could have-"        

            "Exactly what could I have done, Peaches?  Asked Buffy really nicely to please stop mashing your kid's face into the ground?"

            "Yes."

            "I don't think so.  I already did your dirty work once last night.  I wasn't about to do it again."

            Angel leaned back in the wicker rocking chair and took another sip from his mug of blood.  He remained silent for a few moments, staring down at the floor, his silent contemplation bordering on brooding, before looking at Spike, his eyes heavy with anxiety.  "How did she take it?" he asked quietly.

            "How did who take what?"

            Angel sighed.  "Buffy.  How did she react about Connor?"

            "How do you think she took it?"  Spike shifted on the bed, straightening the ebony comforter that had twisted around his legs.  

            "Spike?"

            "She was a little brassed off."  Spike grimaced at the extreme understatement.  A little brassed off did not even begin to cover the range of emotions Buffy had exhibited upon learning about Connor.  Most of the emotions concerned Angel and her intense desire to smack the brunette upside the head with a baseball bat.  Spike looked at Angel and said, "She wasn't pissed about you having the kid.  Just about the fact that you made me tell her."

            "I didn't **make you tell her," Angel protested.  "I ****suggested you tell her so she wouldn't be surprised when you two got here."**

            Raising one eyebrow, Spike folded his arms across his chest and said, "You could've told her over the phone."

            Angel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.  "It-it's not the sort of revelation you make over the phone.  It's like you and your soul.  You didn't call Buffy up and tell her about your soul over the phone.  You went to Sunnydale and told her yourself.  In person."  Angel paused, his brown eyes closely inspecting Spike.  "You did tell her right?"

            "She knows.  And I didn't get you to tell her for me.  I did it myself.  Sort of."  Spike pushed the blanket off him and swung his legs onto the floor.  He reached for his wrinkled black T-shirt as he said, "You were too much of a sissy to tell her yourself."

            Mouth dropping open in shock, Angel stood from the chair, huffing indignantly at the accusation of being scared of Buffy.  "I was not a sissy.  I didn't think it would be appropriate to tell her over the phone.  'Hey, Buff.  How are you?  Guess what?  I have a teenage son.  Yeah, he was born a year ago but he's 17 now.  Who's the mother?  Darla.  Oh, you didn't know Darla was alive?  Well, she's was but not anymore.  See you in a few hours.'"

            "How much longer do you plan on having this imaginary, one sided conversation with Buffy?  I need to go brush my teeth and get rid of the blazing inferno that is my mouth."

            Ignoring Spike, Angel continued, "And there wouldn't have been any opportunity to tell her myself in person when she got here.  'Hey, Buffy.  There's something I need to tell you.  Who is that?  That's my son Connor.  Let's go say hello.'"

            Spike sighed as he pulled the cotton shirt over his head and smoothed the fabric across his stomach.  "Who're you trying to convince?  Me or you?  Look, you know Buffy reasonably well.  Good enough to make a guess on how she'd react to the news that you have a kid with Darla.  Why're you in here bothering me about it?"

            A pained look crossed Angel's face.  "Buffy wants to talk with me.  And I'd rather not have the conversation with her mashing my face into the carpet."

            Smirking, Spike said, "It was only four hours.  Well, really five 'cause as soon as Buffy let the kid up he was stupid enough to pick a fight with her."  Spike shrugged and walked around the bed.  He stopped in front of Angel and said, "I wouldn't worry about any face mashing though.  You don't have any baseball bats, do you?"

            "What?"

            Spike shook his head as he grabbed Angel's arm and drug the brunette towards the door.  Nudging the door open with his foot, Spike shoved Angel out into the hall.  "You'll be fine.  Just remember you're bigger than her and older than her and possess a powerful demon inside you, but she can still kick your ass faster than you can say 'Brood.'  Have fun now."  A wide grin crossed Spike's face as he slammed the door on Angel, leaving the slightly shell shocked and nervous Master Vampire alone in the hall to prepare for his talk with Buffy.

*                      *                      *

            Anya held the miniature camera before her.  She twisted the tiny recording device in her hands, examining the delicate electronic equipment, experimentally tapping on the lens and poking at the buttons.  She and Giles had discovered the camera earlier that morning, lodged high in the wall between the training room and the rest of the Magic Box.  "When do you think it was put in?" Anya asked Giles as she set the camera onto the metal table situated in the center of the shop.

            Giles turned away from the recently restored front window and walked over to the table.  Picking up the camera, Giles said, "I'm not certain.  Possibly when the construction workers rebuilt the loft.  One of them could have been paid by Lilah Morgan to plant the camera."

            "We used Xander's crew to rebuild the loft."  Anya snatched the camera from Giles and held it before her.  She inspected the device for a few moments before returning the camera to the table.  "Maybe they're an evil construction crew.  Maybe Xander's not really in England.  He could be working covertly with this Morgan woman to kill us all.  Maybe he and Black Magic Willow are working together to do us in for foiling her attempts to blow up the world."     

            Sighing in exasperation, Giles said, "Anya, I severely doubt Xander and Willow are working with the person or persons involved in the recent assassination attempts."

            Anya sat on one of the four stools surrounding the table and chewed thoughtfully on one fingernail.  "And how do you know this coven woman you talked to this morning was really the woman you knew from the coven?  Maybe it's Lilah in disguise, and you invited her top two killing machines to town."

            "Anya-"

            "I am only trying to preserve an open mind here and consider all of the possibilities."  Anya paused, face pinched in concentration as visions of potential traitors flew through her head.  She straightened on her stool and said, "Hey, for all we know Emilia and her impressively large male friend are working with Lilah too."

            Giles stared at Anya for a few moments, mouth open in shock.  He blinked a few times and removed his glasses, placing them on the table beside the camera.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sat on one of the stools and said, "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  Emilia wouldn't-"

            "I mean what do we know about her?  Besides the fact that she's an Elf."

            "How do you know she's an Elf?"

            Anya gave Giles a look.  "It's a little bit obvious, isn't it?  Shiny silver hair, big purple eyes… you think everyday ordinary humans look like that?"

            "Well, no, but she's not involved in this."

            Nodding, Anya clasped her hands and leaned across the table, bringing her face close to Giles.  "And what sort of proof do you have to support your claim of her innocence?"

            Giles crossed his arms across his chest.  "I don't need any proof.  I know her.  She's not involved in this."

            "How do you know her exactly?  As many details as you can recall of your history with this alleged conspirator will only help strengthen her claim of innocence.  So… spill."

            Giles opened his mouth and drew in a deep breath, preparing to reveal the details of his history with Emilia.  He glanced at Anya out of the corners of his eyes; she stared intently at him, her body tense with anticipation, eyes alight with curiosity.  Giles paused, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he said, "Exactly how late were you, Faith, and Dawn up last night working out this little… plan to learn more about Emilia and myself?"

            Anya pushed away from the table, rising off her stool and crossing her arms across her chest.  She tilted her chin in the air, an innocent, wounded look in her eyes.  "I don't know what you're talking about.  There is no plan.  How could you think such a thing?  All we're- um, I mean, all **I'm trying to do is look out for the safety of everyone involved in this- this…"  Off of Giles' look, Anya sighed and returned to her stool.  "Crap.  Ok, so maybe we talked a little about the best way to dig up the dirt on your relationship with the Elf.  How could we not?  It's not everyday you have a gorgeous woman, a frickin Elf for crying out loud, that you have some sort of mysterious, possibly sexy, history with who suddenly pops back into your life, now is it?  How can we not be curious?"**

            Giles smiled.  "While I appreciate the interest you three have taken in my life, I think I will keep the details of it to myself."  Standing, he reached for his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his shirt.  Giles grabbed the miniature camera and moved away from the table, walking towards the front door.  "I'm going back to Buffy's.  Maybe Dawn can discover some sort of information regarding this device off of the computer."

            Scrambling off her stool, Anya followed him, slipping in front of him and blocking his path to the door.  "Just one little detail.  I tell you everything about my life, even the sweaty sex parts."

            "For which I am eternally grateful."

            "You can at least tell me how you two met," Anya said, inching in front of Giles as he tried to maneuver around her.

            "How who met?"

            Anya spun, coming face to face with Xander.  He stood in the open doorway, staring at Anya, curiosity shining from his dark brown eyes.  His black hair had grown out a few inches and he had lost weight, his muscles lean and toned beneath his blue T-shirt.  Anya stared at him, feeling the familiar twinge of butterflies in her stomach, a feeling not felt since before the wedding that wasn't.  Sucking in a shaky breath, Anya said, "How Giles and Emilia met.  She's an Elf he used to know during his Ripper days who has recently reappeared in his life."

            His brown eyes cutting from Anya to Giles, Xander said, "An Elf?  As in one of Santa's Elves?"

               Giles sighed again and shook his head.  "No, not as in Santa's Elves.  She's one of an ancient race of powerful beings.  Elves are the opposite of most demons.  They are pure light a-and energy, creative and healing forces, although a few have been known to create chaos and destruction.  There are very rare and mostly reside in solitude."  Giles smiled.  "Except Emilia.  She's always lived among humans."

            "So she's like Galadriel from Lord of the Rings.  Except for the living with people part."

            "Who… Oh!" Anya said, the proverbial light bulb going off above her head.  "That's the movie with the little people with the funny feet and the gold ring that makes everyone invisible."

            Xander nodded.  A soft smile curved his lips as he said, "Yeah.  I didn't think you'd, um, remember the movie."

            Anya shrugged, turning her head to the side to avoid Xander's gaze.  She smoothed a hand over her hair as she said, "You took me to watch it four times.  It's a little hard to forget."

            "Yeah…"  

            "Yeah…"

            Glancing between the Xander and Anya, Giles cleared his throat, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them.  He said to Xander, "I didn't expect the coven to send you back so soon.  Where is Willow?"

            "She's at the apartment, finishing up a meditation exercise.  The Hellmouth vibe has her a little on edge.  Along with whatever nasty caused you to call us in Jolly Old England."  Xander glanced down at Giles' hands, his brown eyes locking onto the small camera.  "Taking up photography?  Or are you planning on becoming a Peeping Tom?"

            "The camera was used to spy on us.  Specifically on Buffy and Faith.  We found it here in the shop."

            "In the shop?"  Xander looked at Anya and Giles, shock and confusion spreading across his face.

            "A lot has happened since you went to England, Xander," Giles said.  "Perhaps it would be best if we went to your apartment so I could tell both you and Willow what has occurred."  As Xander nodded his ascent, Giles turned to Anya and said, "Would you go and check on Dawn and try to discover something about this camera?  Also, see if there is a message from Buffy and Spike."

            "Yeah."  Anya took the camera from Giles and moved towards the open front door, her eyes briefly locking with Xander's.  Maneuvering around him, she stepped through the door onto the sidewalk and disappeared down the sunlit street.

            Xander watched her walk away, drawing in a deep breath and dragging a hand through his hair.  His eyes widened as his brain finally processed Giles' request.  "Buffy and **Spike?  Spike is back and with Buffy?  ****Alone?"**

            Giles flashed the younger man a tight smile.  "As I said before, a lot has happened in Sunnydale while you have been gone."  Placing a hand on Xander's shoulder, Giles gently nudged him out the door and onto the sidewalk.  He closed and locked the door behind him as he said quietly, "A whole hell of a lot has happened."

*                      *                      *

            "Hi, Angel.  Thanks for stopping by…  No.  Angel, thanks for coming over to… one of the rooms in your hotel.  'Cause the rooms are so far away from each other and you had to walk twelve miles through snow uphill both ways to get here.  Yeah, real smooth, Buffy.  Ok, once more with feeling, but no singing because that was beyond creepy… Anyway, Angel, the reason I asked you to come and talk is that I wanted to apologize for last night.  Connor is your son and I had no right to sit on him for five hours in the middle of your courtyard… oh god."  

            Buffy stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed.  Gnawing on her bottom lip, she looked around the room, hazel eyes flickering from her small bag of clothes and larger bag of weapons at the foot of the bed, to the door, then to the oak dresser residing along the far well, before flitting back to the door.  She ran her hands through her golden tresses and stood, resuming her nervous pacing of the large bedroom.

            "Angel.  Hi!  How have you been?  Busy raising a charmer of a son… That's good, Buffy.  Insult the kid.  Ok… How have I been?  I've been fine.  My best friend tried to kill me and destroy the world, Faith and I tried to kill each other again, I was attacked by a group of icky pus demons and bunch of nasty men, an evil lawyer from L.A. is out to kill me, and I think I'm having more than friendly feelings towards your recently souled grand-Childe.  I'm just peachy."

            Maybe honesty wasn't the best policy in this conversation.  Buffy didn't want to incite a dust-o-thon by having a heart to heart with Angel about Spike.  "Just apologize for bitch slapping his son, yell at him for not telling me about Connor himself, and suddenly become a deaf mute with no capacity for communication whatsoever.  Especially about blue eyed vampires named Spike."  A light knock on the door caused Buffy to freeze.  She stared wide-eyed at the door for a few seconds before forcing her body to cross the room and grasp the handle.  She twisted the knob, pulled the door open, and plastered a smile on her face as Angel came into view.

            "Hey, Angel."    

            "Buffy."

*                      *                      *


	23. Reunion Part 2

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics designate a flashback scene.  This chapter is for all of the wonderful people at CW who make my Buffy viewing experience as fun and fulfilling as it is.  Thanks guys!  And, as always, many thanks to SpikeLover7.  You are a goddess.  :)  Feedback is wonderful, so please leave some.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Reunion Part 2

By: Wynn

            "Angel."

            "Buffy."

            Silence.  

            Buffy shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the hall, down to the floor, then up towards the ceiling, studiously avoiding Angel.  She mentally kicked herself for her nervousness and brought forth another strained smile.  "Do you, uh, want to come in?  Or we can talk right here in the, um, hallway?"

            Angel shook his head.  "We can talk in your room.  That is if you want to."

            "That's fine with me."  Buffy turned from the door and crossed the bedroom, sitting gingerly upon the suddenly too small full sized bed.  She mentally cursed the hotel's interior decorator for not adding another chair to the room.  The closer Angel got to her, the more likely it was that he would see what she didn't want him to see and that would be of the bad.  She watched Angel move into the room, leaving the door open, his hands clasped behind him, dark gaze roaming around the room.

            "Looking for something?"

            Brown eyes snapping towards Buffy, Angel quickly said, "No.  No.  I haven't been in this room in a long time.  I'd, uh, forgotten what it looked like."

            "Right."  Buffy squirmed on the bed, desperately trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of Connor, when the absurdity of the situation dawned on her.  Why was she stressing over the 'best' way to talk to Angel about his brat of a kid, who attacked both her and Spike last night, in addition to fighting with Gunn, as well as Angel's extreme lack in judgment in having Spike tell her about the little hellion one hour before arriving in Los Angeles?  Angel was the one who should be nervous.  Not her.  Standing, Buffy slipped into battle mode, placing her hands upon her hips and raising her chin a couple of inches into the air.  "I asked you to come and talk because I wanted to apologize for my actions concerning Connor last night-"

            "Buffy-"

            "**However, I have now decided that you should be the one to apologize to me."**

            Angel blinked.  "What?"

            "You heard me.  Unless old age has finally caught up with you and dulled your hearing.  Do you need me to repeat it?"

            Glowering at Buffy, Angel said, "No, I heard you just fine.  And I was going to apologize for not telling you about Connor myself, but suddenly I don't feel like it."  He turned and started to walk away from Buffy.  As he approached the door, Angel spun and stalked back towards her.  "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about Connor in the first place.  I knew you would overreact."

            "Overreact?"  Buffy shook her head as she took a few steps towards Angel.  "I was shocked, yeah, and angry that you didn't have enough respect for me to tell me myself.  But I did **not overreact."  **

            "What do you call this then?"

            "Being legitimately angry."

            "Why are you angry?"  Angel began to pace the small bedroom, his brown eyes occasionally darting towards Buffy.  "So I didn't tell you about Connor.  I'm sorry.  There wasn't any time.  Spike said you wanted to get here as soon as possible, and I didn't want to fight with you over the phone about this.  So I asked Spike to tell you, out of my respect for you, so you would know who the hell this kid was when you got here."  Angel slumped down onto the bed, shoulders hunched, and cradled his head in his hands.

            Watching Angel out of the corners of her eyes, Buffy felt her righteous indignation dissipate.  Sighing, she moved over to the bed and sat down next to Angel.  "I'm sorry I smacked Connor around last night," she said quietly.

            Angel looked at her, a half smile curving his lips.  "Don't be sorry.  He deserved it.  I probably would have done more than sit on him if you had actually let him up."

            "Does he pick fights with your crew often?"

            "Just about every single day.  Mostly he fights with Gunn and Lorne.  He hasn't started in on me yet because he still feels bad for dumping me in a box in the middle of the ocean."  Angel paused, shaking his head slightly.  "I don't know what to do.  I don't know how to be a parent to a teenager."

            "If it makes you feel any better, I'm right there with you in the land of not knowing.  I'm supposed to be all discipline-y with Dawn, say 'Go brush your teeth' and 'Do your homework.'  Most of the time she just gives me the patented Summers eye roll and ignores me."

            "At least she's not trying to kill your friends."

            "No.  Not yet anyway."  Shaking her head to clear it of the unwanted images of a bloodthirsty, murderous Dawn, Buffy said, "Why do you let him stay if he's such a pest?"

            Angel shrugged.  "He's my son.  I can't turn him away.  Plus, he doesn't have anywhere else to go."

            "So."  Off of Angel's incredulous look, Buffy continued, "Obviously Connor doesn't respect you or your friends enough to deserve to live here.  He's 17.  It's time he grows up or gets out."

            "Buffy, you don't understand.  He had a hard life.  He-"

            "And who hasn't had a hard life?  That's no excuse for his current behavior.  You can't take your problems out on other people.  It… it took me a long time to learn that."  Buffy stopped.  A sheepish grin appeared on her face.  "And here I go again trying to tell you how to live your life.  Sorry."

            "Don't be.  It's nice to have someone who understands."  He was quiet for a moment as he stared at her.  He said quietly, "You look good.  Better than before."

            Pushing off of the bed, Buffy walked across the room and hefted her weapons bag into her hand.  "Yeah, well, the last time we talked I was in bad shape."  She tossed the bag onto the bed; her fingers trailed across the zipper as she said, "It took a long time to feel better… took a long time to feel anything.  I made a lot of mistakes and pretty much tried to kill every single one of my friends."

            Angel smiled.  "Who hasn't done that before?"  He stood and walked towards Buffy.  He tilted her chin in the air and looked down into her eyes.  "The important thing is that you realized you were hurting and angry and depressed, and you realized you wanted to change.  That you didn't want to feel like that anymore.  That's not an easy thing to do, believe me I know."

            "Thanks," Buffy said softly.  She grasped the bag, unzipping it, and removed her crossbow.  She set the weapon on the bed and pawed through the wooden stakes and steel knives for the accompanying arrows as she said, "So what happened between you and Wesley?  Faith mentioned something about a disagreement and him possibly working with this Lilah chick."

            "Possibly.  They're… involved."

            Buffy's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.  "Wesley is sleeping with her?  Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is having sex with someone?"  Buffy shuddered.  "That is just too disturbing for words.  Do you think he might be working with her?  Giving her information about us?"

            Angel shrugged.  "He might.  Wes has changed since you saw him last.  He hates me and everyone working with me, but I don't think he'd take revenge on us by going after you."

            "If he's not working with her, maybe he'll help us gain access to her, help us find out whether or not she's involved with the attacks."

            "I doubt he would, but if you want to try, go ahead."  Angel paused.  He glanced down at the bag of weapons then locked eyes with Buffy.  "But there is another way."

*                      *                      *

            _He hunched over the bar, heavy eyes staring down into the amber liquid swirling within the small shot glass.  He didn't see the bar.  He didn't see the hard liquor.  He only saw the fierce yellow eyes… He only saw Eyghon._

_            Rupert Giles sighed.  He slipped off the bar stool and moved towards the dark, murky corner of the pub.  He slid into the booth, setting his glass onto the table before him, and laid his head upon the table.  He could still hear the screams, the demonic wail of Eyghon, the panicked cries of him and his mates as Randall lost control… no, as they lost control of the powerful menacing demon, the last gasping sobbing breath of Randall as the demon took control.  Permanently.  _

_            Randall was dead and it was all his fault._

_            They hadn't wanted this to happen.  They just wanted to have fun.  Go wild.  Let go of responsibilities and destiny and say "Screw you" to Fate._

_            Instead he, Ethan, Philip, Deidre, Thomas, and Randall had delved into something more sinister than fun, more dangerous than a simple game.  And it had cost them more than they bargained for, more than they could have ever imagined. _

_            "You look like shit."_

_            Lifting his head off the table, Giles watched the petite woman sit down on the vacant, opposite side of the booth.  Her hair was long and streaked every color of the rainbow.  Bright red and purple juxtaposed with cool green, blue, and silver.  She reached up and removed her large black sunglasses, revealing vibrant violet eyes.  _

_            "I don't mean to be rude, Miss," Giles said, throwing back his shot.  "But bugger off.  Don't want company."_

_            "And what do you want?  To sit in your dark corner in this hellhole of a bar and drown all of your troubles in foul piss tasting liquor?"_

_            "That's about right."  Giles reached for his glass again, knocking it over.  He watched it roll off the table and crash onto the floor, crumbling into thousands of brittle shards.  "Bloody hell."_

_              "Come on," she said as she stood, covering her eyes with her sunglasses.  She grasped his hand and pulled him from the booth, throwing his arm around her shoulder as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet.  "Let's get out of here."_

_            She led him to the door, nudging it open, and pulled him into the damp night air.  A fine mist of rain fell onto the __London__ alleyway, the cracked concrete slick with water and dotted with garbage.  Giles stumbled, gagging as the mixture of liquors raged in his stomach.  Tearing his arm off of the woman beside him, he fell to his knees, throwing up the alcohol in the middle of the alley.  Wiping his mouth off on his T-shirt, he felt her pull him to his feet again, a short disgusted snort coming forth as she wrapped her arm around him again.  _

_            "You smell like a pile of rubbish."_

_            "Thanks."  He slowly turned his head, his bleary, blood shot eyes looking at her.  "My name is Rupert."_

_            She smiled.  "Hello, Rupert.  I'm Emilia."     _

*                      *

            More than twenty years had passed since Emilia first walked into his life, dragging his drunken, sorry ass out of the bar, out of the pit of depression and self-loathing he had fell into.  As they walked out of the alley, Giles hadn't questioned her as to where they were going or wondered why this gorgeous woman was interested in him.  He was sucked into the delicate tenor of her voice, the brilliant lavender of her eyes, and her crazy Crayola streaked hair.  He followed her without protest, knowing instinctively that she was what he needed.

            Knocking on Emilia's door, Giles shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown jacket and waited.  His grey eyes traveled across her small pots of flowers, each ceramic container bursting with every color of the rainbow and beyond.  A small smile tugged on the corners of his lips at the sight of her vast array of flora.  He remembered her flat in London had been filled to the brim with all sorts of plants and flowers.

*                      *

            _"What's with all the plants?"  Giles asked as Emilia let him into her apartment.  A crystal vase of lilies resided on a tall, narrow table beside the door. Along the hallway stretching from the front door to the interior of the apartment, small glass vases brimming with flower arrangements hung from a long iron bar.  _

_            "They're pretty.  And they smell good."  She delicately wrinkled her nose as she yanked on Giles' jean jacket, pulling the soiled garment off of him.  "Although I doubt they'll be enough to cancel out your wondrously horrid smell.  How long have you been drinking today?"_

_            Giles frowned, trying to clear his head of the liquor induced fog.  When had he started drinking… "What time is it now?"_

_            "About two in the morning."_

_            "Started about two in the afternoon.  So about twelve hours."  _

_            "Lovely.  I've brought a royal lush back to my place."  She pushed Giles down the hall, small hands guiding him around the corner, stopping him before an open door.  He grimaced as she reached inside the dark room and flicked on the lights.  Bright white light flooded the pale blue bathroom.  Maneuvering around Giles, Emilia entered the bathroom and opened the door to the tiny closet.  She pulled out a cream colored towel and wash cloth, setting them on the toilet. Turning back to Giles, she looked him over, a faint smirk crossing her lips.  "Now, can you muster enough coordination to undress yourself?  Or should I finish what I started and take it all off?"_

_            Giles crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to scowl at her.  "I can undress myself perfectly well, thank you."_

_            Shrugging, Emilia stepped towards Giles, moving closer and closer until she was a hair's breadth away.  Tilting her face upwards, she locked eyes with Giles and said, "Too bad.  It would've been more fun my way."  She flashed him an impish grin and slipped out of the bathroom into the hall.  "There's soap and shampoo in the shower.  They're non-girly scented, too.  I'll leave fresh clothes outside the door."_

_            She turned to leave.  His arm shooting out, Giles grabbed her hand and turned her back towards him.  "Why're you helping me?" he asked quietly.  "You don't even know me."_

_            "Yes, I do."  Emilia lifted her hand and brushed a lock of his hair away from his face.  "I know exactly who you are, Rupert Giles, and that is why I'm helping you."  She smiled, a tender curving of her lips, as she backed away from him into the hallway.  Grasping the doorknob, she slowly shut the door behind her._

*                      *

            Giles was pulled from his reverie as the front door opened and Emilia stepped onto the tiny porch.  She stared at him for a moment, silent, contemplative, a small grin appearing on her face.  Moving back inside the house, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Are you coming inside?  Or did you come only to look at my flowers?"

            "They are very nice flowers."  Giles crossed the threshold, his hand grasping the door and closing it.  "However, I did come to see you."

            "Good."

*                      *                      *

            "You want to what?"

            Dark eyes flickering towards Gunn, Angel repeated, "I want to break into Lilah's office at Wolfram and Hart."

            Angel and Buffy had gathered everyone for a meeting in the hotel's sitting room to discuss his idea for investigating Lilah's involvement in the recent attacks in Sunnydale.  Fred, Gunn, and Lorne sat on one sofa while Buffy and Spike sat on the other.  Connor stood in the corner of the room, alternating between scowling at Buffy and glaring at Gunn.

            Angel continued, "If there's any sort of concrete connection between Lilah and Sunnydale it will either be in her office at the firm or at her apartment.  Wolfram and Hart has better security, so she's probably got it stashed there."  He looked around the room as he said, "Buffy, Spike, and I will break into her office and search for hard evidence.  Gunn and Connor will wait in the car, keeping the car running in case we need to get out of there fast and providing extra muscle if we're attacked."

            Shaking his head, Gunn pushed off of the couch and moved towards Angel.  "Uh uh, man.  I am not working with him."

            Sighing, Angel looked at Fred and Lorne.  They both shook their heads.  Closing his eyes briefly, Angel said, "I need someone to drive the car.  Connor doesn't know how."

            "I'll do it."

            Angel froze.  He slowly turned towards the front door, his body trembling with shock, with hope, with dread that this was all a dream and when he opened his eyes, she wouldn't really be there.  Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he opened his eyes and saw her leaning against the wall, one eyebrow delicately arched on her face.  "Cordelia?"

*                      *                      *


	24. Extreme Measures

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Many thanks to SpikeLover7 for the super speedy beta-ing.As always, your feedback is much appreciated.And thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to leave reviews.

Chapter Twenty-Four:Extreme Measures

By: Wynn

"Cordelia?"Angel took a few halting steps forward, his entire being focused on the brunette vision before him.Her hair had returned to its lustrous long brown, hanging in soft waves down her back.She wore a pair of black pants and a plunging white satin shirt; a black opal necklace adorned her neck.A broad smile appeared on Cordelia's face as she moved into the room, slowly approaching him."You… you…"

"Eloquent as always," she said.The breathless waver in her voice and the wide grin on her face belied the sarcasm inherent in her words.

He smiled, feeling his body begin to tremble again as the realization that Cordelia was standing before him resounded within his soul.He lifted a shaky hand, brushing the tips of his fingers against her cheek, a whisper of a caress that sent tremors through her body."You're really here."

"Well, duh," she said."You can't get rid of me that easy, Angel.Someone needs to save you from your brooding."

A half-sob, half-laugh escaped his lips.He closed the distance between himself and Cordelia, dragging her into a fierce, possessive hug.She threw her arms around his neck, and they remained entwined in each other's arms, relieved and exhilarated to be reunited, oblivious to the six people gaping at them from across the room.

Angel pulled back slightly to look into her eyes."I thought… I thought you would be gone forever."

"Me, too.Time passed… I don't know how long exactly.It runs differently there.Slower, yet faster.But still mind numbingly boring.Like the 'would rather be at the dentist's office having a root canal' type of boring."One corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement."I think the Powers finally got tired of me nagging them.They've got an entire universe to run, so they're not exactly familiar with the whole concept of soul sucking boredom.I mean, I only got to help one person.The rest of the extremely long time was spent gazing at the 'magnificence and wonderment inherent in the universe.'Whatever."

Angel laughed.He touched his forehead against Cordelia's as he said, "I should have known the Powers would be no match for you."

"Well, they brought me back here because of the nagging and the upcoming big evil thing that I'm supposed to help fight against.You know the usual."

"I don't mean to butt into the loving reunion, cupcakes," Lorne said as he cautiously approached the brunette duo."But some of us other than Angel would like to show a little love to the returning Cordy."

Cordelia locked eyes with Lorne.She pulled away from Angel, flashing him a bright smile, and walked over to Lorne, hugging him tightly."Missed you, too," she whispered.

Angel watched them embrace.He winced as an excited squeal pierced the air.Fred pushed off the couch and launched across the room, nudging Lorne out of the way and hugging Cordelia."Oh my god!I'm so glad you're back!We all missed you so much!Everything has been different since you left and I missed having you around.What was it like where you were?Did you actually meet the Powers that Be?Were they nice?"

A slightly startled look on her face, Cordelia gently patted Fred on the back.She slipped out of the excited girl's embrace and said, "I missed you too, Fred."

"Glad you're back," Gunn said as he threw an arm around Cordelia's shoulders."Things were getting dull here without you."

"Not too dull though," Cordelia said as she stepped away from Gunn, her dark eyes locked on Connor.He stood in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, his face turned down to the floor, occasionally rising up and stealing glances at her.Arching an eyebrow, Cordelia walked across the room towards Connor."What?No hug?Just because you're 'The Destroyer' doesn't mean you're not obligated to give me a hug.Or do I need to sit on you for five hours and wait for a hug?"An amused smirk crossed her face as she glanced over at Buffy and Spike.She snickered at the looks of shock on their faces and returned her gaze to Connor."I'm waiting."

Connor looked around, taking in the various levels of amusement plastered across the faces of the seven people throughout the room.Frowning slightly, he pushed off the wall and walked to Cordelia.He awkwardly wrapped one arm around her, leaning as far away from the brunette as possible, as he said quietly, "Welcome, back."

"Thank you," she said as she ruffled his hair, delighting in the murderous scowl that appeared on his face."Deal with it and expect more displays of mushiness in the future, Ok.No more uncivilized cave child for you, got it?"

Shrugging, Connor said as he returned to the corner of the room, "Sure.Whatever."

Cordelia turned and looked at Buffy and Spike.She quirked an eyebrow at Spike's darker, curlier hair."Nice hair."Gaze darting from Spike to Buffy, she said, "So… who's trying to kill you now?"

***

_Giles stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping wet, a bundle of dirty, alcohol drenched clothes in hand.He was dressed in a pair of dark blue cotton pants and a light grey T-shirt, courtesy of Emilia.He wondered if they were her boyfriend's clothes.Frowning at the thought, he moved down the hall towards the kitchen.He saw Emilia standing before the stove, a tea kettle on one of the burners beginning to whistle; two mugs sat on a round white table in the corner of the kitchen.She turned and smiled at him as he entered the room._

_ _

_"Feeling better, I hope.You can set the clothes in the corner.I'll throw them in the laundry in a moment."_

_ _

_Nodding slightly, Giles placed the clothes off to the side and pulled one chair out from beneath the table.He sat down as Emilia brought over the steaming kettle, pouring water into both mugs."Thank you for the clothes.Are they your, um, boyfriend's o-or husband's?"_

_ _

_Emilia laughed."I don't have a boyfriend or husband, so you can rest easy now.Or maybe not, now that you know you're all alone inside this flat with me with no one to come and rescue you."She returned the kettle to the stove top, still chuckling, and opened a nearby cabinet, pulling out a square container.Reaching into the metal container, she pulled out a small cloth satchel, tugged on the slender thread holding the satchel closed, and dumped the contents into Giles's mug.She handed him a spoon and indicated for him to stir._

_ _

_He glanced at the cup, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation on his face."Um, what did you put in there?"_

_ _

_"It's my own very special cure for potential hangovers.And if you've been drinking for twelve hours, something tells me you're going to need all the cures you can get."She sighed as he remained still, lightly grasping the silver spoon in his hand."Oh, come on.Do you think I'm going to try to poison you?That I'm some serial killer that invites poor, drunken men back to my flat to sober them up, only to off them with a poisoned cuppa?"_

_ _

_"Well, no," Giles protested.He frowned again as Emilia snatched the spoon from his hand, plunging it into his cup of water and stirring the contents briskly.Placing the spoon on the counter top, Emilia lifted his glass and took a drink._

_ _

_"Satisfied?"_

_ _

_"Yes," he said testily as he snatched the cup out of her hands._

_ _

_"A bit paranoid, aren't you?"Emilia reached into the container once more and removed a tea bag, dunking it into her own mug of hot water._

_ _

_"I'm not paranoid.Just careful."_

_ _

_"Careful?Why?"_

_ _

_"I…"Giles trailed off, pain flashing in his light grey eyes as Randall's scream of horror rang in his ears."Nothing.I-I have to go."He stood, knocking over the chair, and scrambled out of the kitchen.He ran for the front door, yanking his coat off the rack hanging off the back of the door.He started as he felt Emilia's hand touch his shoulder."Uh… thank you for the-the… Thank you."_

_ _

_"You're welcome," she said, handing him his shoes._

_ _

_Giles opened the door and moved into the hall.He glanced once over his shoulder, locking eyes with her, anguish screaming from the slump of his shoulders and faint lines around his eyes and mouth, before disappearing down the dark street, the image of her, of her wild hair, of her slender frame, and of her wide, concerned, violet eyes searing into his brain._

**

Leaning forward, Giles lightly laid a kiss on Emilia's cheek, the soft scent of lavender clinging to her pale skin, invading his senses, and bringing forth remembrances of her unique blend of earth and spices from the past."Hello."

"Hi."She reached around him and gently closed the front door.Leaning back, she looked into his eyes and said, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you.I can't stay long.I have to get to Dawn before nightfall."

"How is Dawn?" Emilia asked as she and Giles moved from the hall into her living room.A wide picture window let in the red and gold rays of the sunset, highlighting the rich earth tones decorating the room.A brick fireplace resided opposite the picture window; on the mantle, between a set of circular oil lamps, was an intricately interwoven silver sculpture.Plush throw rugs lay haphazard across the hardwood floor.A pale wood artist's easel sat before the wide window, a pad of blank cream colored paper and set of pencils beside the easel.Emilia sat on one of the mahogany sofas that circled a low cream coffee table in the center of the room.

"Good," Giles said as he sat beside her."She is the same, but her wrist will heal in time.Anya has healed completely from her chest wound, and Faith and Buffy are recovering from their injuries also."

"And what about Clem?How is he?"

"Much better.Your medicines helped a lot."

"Good.I'd hoped they would.Did Buffy and Spike make it to Los Angeles safely?"

"Yes.She called and left a message earlier this morning."

Emilia was quiet as she watched Giles, taking in the worry etched across his face."She's a bright girl, Rupert.She will be alright.You've trained her well."

Smiling softly, Giles said, "I know.I still worry."

"She has Spike.He won't let anything happen to her."

A faint grimace crossed Giles' face."You're so certain he'll protect her?"

"You're so certain he won't?"Emilia shifted on the sofa, drawing her legs beneath her, straightening her gold linen skirt.She leaned her head on the back of the couch and looked at Giles."I wondered if you had ever completed your studies at the Watcher's Academy. And now here you are with not one but two Slayers."

"Much to the chagrin of the Watcher's Council."

"What do you mean by that?You've helped keep Buffy alive for the past six years or so, and you're helping Faith overcome her troubles.I would think the Council would be indebted to you for helping these girls."

"Yes," Giles murmured."One would think that, but the Council sees these girls as tools to be used in whatever way they wish.They don't care about their well being or state of mind.They only care that Buffy and Faith carry out their orders and follow procedure and all that rot.Which they rarely do."

"And I'm sure you encourage this disobedience to the Council's authority."

"Sometimes."

"Glad to know that you haven't gone completely on the straight and narrow."Emilia paused.She grasped Giles hand and said, "They are lucky to have you in their lives, to have you care more about them than their supposed destinies."

"I wouldn't be in their lives if it wasn't for you."

Emilia shook her head, a small smile curving her lips."Nonsense.You would have found your way eventually.All I did was give you a little nudge of encouragement."

Giles smirked at her understatement of the impact she had had on his life."A little nudge?"

Laughing, Emilia said, "Ok, so it was more like a massive kick in the ass.I only did what was necessary.Sometimes extreme measures are needed to make one realize what one needs and wants."

***

The alley beside Mossino's was quiet and still.A faint light shone from the dojo's inner office, spilling out through the glass panes of the office door into the rest of the building, highlighting the man standing before the front door.Faith squinted.The man matched Buffy's description of Tyler.He pulled out a key from the pocket of his satchel and locked the front door, looking once around the darkened street before walking away from the building.

Faith watched until he disappeared around the corner then fished the small brass key out of the pocket of her black jeans.Buffy had given Faith the key to Mossino's before leaving for L.A.; it would gain them access to the outer parts of the dojo, but Faith, Anya, and Xander would have to find some way of breaking into Tyler's office to search for more videotapes.Grasping the key in her hand, Faith stepped from the shadows of the alley and moved to the door, glancing in each direction as she slid the key into the lock and turned.She opened the door and stepped inside the cool building, holding the door open for Xander and Anya.

"Remind me again why you're here, Xander?" Anya said as she shut the door behind her.Faith tossed her the key, and Anya relocked the front door, pocketing the key as she waited for Xander to reply.

Xander sighed.He glanced over his shoulder at Anya and said, "To make sure this goes smoothly.Giles may be all trusting of Faith, but I'm not.I want to make sure we find this tape thing so Buffy can kick this guy's ass.And the last time you went looking for information, Anya, you got into a bar fight."

"I didn't start it.All I did-"

"Could you two wait until we're done with the B and E before fighting?" Faith said, irritation flickering across her dark features."I don't want to go back to jail 'cause someone heard you two bickering at each other."She turned away from Xander and Anya and looked around the building, spotting the main mirror-lined room.Over her shoulder she said, "Anya, you and Xander find a way to get into this guy's office and look for more tapes.I'll look for the camera in here."

"Who put you in charge of this little adventure?More importantly, who put you in charge of me?"

Rolling her eyes, Faith turned and looked at Xander.She said simply, "Giles.Have a problem with it, go talk to him.Now you can either go with Anya and look for the tapes or come with me and look for the camera."

Xander looked from Anya, who stood before the office door inspecting the lock, to Faith, who glared at him from the entrance to the main room.He sighed as he turned and walked towards Anya and the office.

Suppressing another eye roll, Faith moved into the main room.She reached into the back pocket of her pants and removed a slim flashlight.Turning it on, she directed the narrow beam of light around the room.To her right, a set of blue training mats were lined up in front of the wall of windows, and a training dummy sat in the center of the room.She directed the light at the ceiling, slowly dragging it across the pale surface, looking for the tiny surveillance camera.Faith took a few steps further into the room, pausing as the light flashed across the tall trophy case against the far wall."All too easy," she murmured, her boots thudding across the carpeted floor as she moved to the wooden case.Halfway across the room, the fluorescent lights flickered on.Blinking to clear her vision, Faith tensed as she heard a deep voice speak behind her.

"Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my dojo?"

Switching off the flashlight, Faith returned it to her back pocket.She crossed her arms across her chest and turned around, a wicked smirk curving her ruby lips.Tyler stood in the threshold between the main room and entrance hall, blocking her only escape route, a slim curved dagger clasped lightly in his hand.

***


	25. Breaking and Entering

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN:  Just a little clarification, the second scene with Anya and Xander starts at the end of the last scene of Chapter 24.  Then it runs at the same time as the first scene with Faith and Tyler in this chapter.  A big thanks to SpikeLover7 for awesome beta-ing.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.   

Chapter Twenty-Five: Breaking and Entering

By: Wynn

            "I'm going to ask you one more time," Tyler said as he moved into the main room of the dojo.  He shifted the dagger in his hand, the fluorescent lights glinting off the curved blade.  "Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in here?"

            A wicked grin spread across Faith's face.  "Oooh, sweet talk.  I bet you drive all the girls wild, don't you?"

            "If you don't tell me what I want to know-"

            "You'll what?  Call the cops?  I don't think so."  Faith shook her head slowly, mock disapproval shining from her dark eyes.  "Someone's been naughty.  I doubt you want the boys in blue in here searching through all your shit."

            "What the hell are you talking about?"

            Faith turned and strolled across the room, stopping before the trophy case.  She doubted Tyler had confronted Anya and Xander; there hadn't been any sounds of a struggle, and Faith didn't think that Tyler could take both of them out without making a sound.  Why had he come back to the building?  Had he forgotten something?  Had they been set up?  It didn't really matter to Faith.  She would get what she came for.  One way or another.  She tilted her head and gazed at the award residing on the top shelf, mere inches from the ceiling.  "Nice trophies.  Who's Tony?   His name is on all of these awards."

            "Me."

            Looking over her shoulder at Tyler, Faith said, "Funny.  Thought your name was Tyler."

            A flicker of panic flitted across Tyler's face.  His eyes darted from Faith to the trophies then back again.  "Tyler is my middle name.  I won those under my first name, Anthony."

            "Wow… you can't lie for shit.  I hate it when people lie to me.  It makes me feel bad… angry.  Like I need to hit something hard."  

            "Yeah, well, I don't like finding strange broads in my dojo, so I guess we're both fucked."

            "I guess so."  Turning back to the trophy case, Faith inspected the wood structure, dark eyes traveling from the base to the top and back again.  She moved to the edge of the case and kicked the base once, twice, three times, watching with an air of satisfaction as the structure cracked in two, the jagged pieces and multiple awards tumbling to the ground in a resounding crash.  Glancing up, she saw the top plaque still perched a few inches away from the ceiling, now hanging by the cord of the delicate camera lodged inside it.

            "That was a mistake," Tyler said as he strode across the room, holding the knife before him.

            "But it was fun.  Spying on the unsuspecting citizens of Sunnydale.  That's wicked gross."  Faith moved away from the demolished case, keeping her back to the mirrored wall and facing Tyler.  Her eyes flickered over the dagger in his hand.  "I'd lose the blade if I were you.  Unless you feel like getting stabbed with your own weapon."

            A cold smirk twisted Tyler's lips.  "You think you can take it from me?"

            "I don't think.  I know."  Faith stepped away from the mirrors and walked towards Tyler.  She flipped her black hair over her shoulder as she moved into a fighting stance.  "I don't usually do this but I'm feeling a little sorry for you, so listen up.  Drop the knife and leave now.  You will lose if we fight and you will lose bad.  And fighting a fight I know I'm going to win just isn't any fun."

            Moving in front of Faith, Tyler glanced down at the dagger in his hand and said, "Coming off a little strong, aren't you, honey?  I mean I'm the one with the kni-"

            Faith darted towards him, kicking at his hand holding the knife.  Tyler danced away from her, backing up a few steps, before he twisted into her, bringing the dagger high into the air and plunging it towards her chest.  Faith ducked, sweeping out with her right leg, knocking Tyler onto the ground.  She kicked at his hand again, loosening his grip on the blade and sending it flying across the room.  Jumping over his prone form, Faith scrambled for Tyler's knife and snatched it off the floor.  She turned around and faced him, unable to stop the smirk from appearing on her face.

            "Isn't this just amazing?  Your knife in my hands… kind of ironic, isn't it, _honey_?"

            Standing, Tyler said, "Doesn't matter."

            "You still think you can take me on?  Haven't you learned anything in the past few minutes?  I told you to leave or you would regret it."

            Tyler nodded.  He lightly rubbed a hand across the back of his head as he said, "Yeah, I remember you saying something like that.  But you know what I've learned?  You're all talk and no action.  'Cause you have my knife and haven't attacked me with it yet."

            "Want me to?  Knives are sort of my specialty.  I know all sorts of ways to make a man scream by using a blade.  Care for a demonstration?"

            "More talk.  I know who you are.  Took me a moment to place you, Faith."  He grinned as a brief flare of surprise flickered across her face.  "I got to tell you, from what they told me about you, I expected someone a little more… dangerous.  You're too scared to even stab me with my own knife."

            "I'm not scared."

            "No?  Too worried that you'd like it too much, the feel of the knife in your hand as it slices across human skin?  That you'd start to lose control and begin to crave it, the smell of blood, the taste of death, the absolute power?  That you'll turn against your friends and kill them before turning to innocent people to unleash the rage inside you?  Am I worth going down that path again?"  Tyler paused.  He began to move towards Faith as he continued, "If you don't kill me, you know I'll tell them that you were here looking for the camera, that you know about me and about them.  They'll be forced to kill you, then Buffy and the old guy and the rest of the bunch, saving that sweet, innocent little girl for last.  So the question is, do you gut me with my own knife and let loose the darkness inside you, or do you wimp out and let me go, guaranteeing more attacks on you and your friends?"  He stopped before her, a smug smile twisting his lips.  Bending close to her, Tyler rested his mouth against her ear and whispered, "What's it going to be, Faith?"

*                      *                      *

                Anya twisted the small brass key, attempting to force it into the lock on the office door.  "Come on… fit you stupid key shaped thing," she muttered as she leaned forward, putting her body weight behind the key.  It snapped in half, one part lodged in the lock on the door, the other grasped firmly in her hand, causing Anya to crash into the wall.  Wincing slightly, she shoved the broken half of the key in the pocket of her pants and glanced over her shoulder at Xander and Faith, relieved to see that they hadn't noticed her tumble into the wall.  She cursed softly as she saw Xander turn away from Faith and walk towards her.  Anya turned back to the door, grabbing the handle and pushing against the wood surface; she felt it begin to crack, the wood splintering as it separated from the metal lock.  She gave one final shove, falling into the office as the door swung free, the deadbolt left hanging in the doorframe.  Anya jumped to her feet as Xander reached the door, quickly brushing the wood splinters off of her hands and plastering an innocent smile on her face.

            "Damn evil people," she said.  "Always booby trapping their doors, ready to catch completely guilt free demons off their guard.  We're lucky the whole place didn't go up in a big ball of flames and smoke… all ka-bloey."

            Smothering the grin on his face, Xander said, "Right.  Those evil people are just so… evil with their wacky doors."

            The office was narrow and crammed with furniture.  To the right of the door, in front of the office window, was a small metal desk and grey chair on wheels; a gold lamp on the desk cast a cool glow of pale light into the office.  A slim laptop computer sat next to the lamp, amid various stacks of papers and folders.  Two bookcases filled with knick-knacks, awards, and trophies lined the right wall.  A tall file cabinet, threadbare armchair, and small round table rested against the far wall opposite the door; a grey portable telephone sat on the round table.

            "I'll take the desk," Anya said.  "You can look through the file cabinet or just stand there.  Doesn't matter to me."  She pushed a strand of blonde hair off her face and moved to the desk, making sure to avoid looking at Xander.  She could feel him watching her, the office becoming suddenly too small and cramped, the walls closing in on her, making her aware of just how close Xander was to her.  Aside from their brief reunion at the Magic Box earlier in the day, she hadn't seen or talked to Xander in weeks.  Not since their fight in the middle of the Espresso Pump.  _You love me, Xander, but you hate what I am… You wouldn't be able to comprehend the things I've witnessed over the past millennia.  The things I've done.  Anya grimaced as her heated words flashed into her mind.  She drew in a deep breath, pushing aside the memories, as Xander moved into the office, shutting the door behind him, and crossed the length of the room to the file cabinet._

            "So," he said, tugging on the handle of the top drawer of the file cabinet.  "How have you been?"

            Flipping through the papers on the desk, Anya said, "Fine.  Great.  Wonderful."

            "That's good.  Have you, um, performed any vengeance?  Or is it enacted vengeance?  Brought forth vengeance?"

            "Why do you care?  Fishing for information to tell Buffy?  'The evil demon is wreaking some wrath.  Better go kill her before she filets us all.'"

            "No.  I'm asking you about your life.  You are a vengeance demon.  I thought you would be knee deep in the vengeance giving by now."  He rifled through the contents of the top drawer, finding nothing but training certificates and insurance forms.  Closing the drawer, Xander opened the middle cabinet and said, "I'm just trying to understand what it's like for you being a vengeance demon.  I want to know more about your… job."

            "It's not a job," Anya said as she searched the desk drawers.  "More like a purpose in life.  But one can't just jump headfirst back into the vengeance fold.  It takes a lot of time and preparation, and I haven't had the time to devote myself fully to avenging wronged women.  Too much going on with all the attacks and, um, other important things going on in my life.  And there's nothing worse than half-assed vengeance."

            "What-" A deafening crash from the main room cut off Xander's reply.  Momentarily frozen, he glanced at Anya, who continued searching the desk, nonplussed by the sounds of destruction emanating from the exterior of the building.  He moved toward the door, his hand closing on the shredded edge when Anya reached out and pulled him away from the door.  "Why-"

            "We need to find these tapes now," Anya said, releasing Xander and continuing her search of the desk.  "We need to find something, some clue that'll point us in the direction of the attackers."

            "But what about Faith?"

            "She's probably indulging in some mindless destruction, which I for one am not going to stop.  This ringworm deserves to have his place trashed for taping Buffy.  And in the off chance that Faith is fighting someone she said to keep searching.  She'll handle whatever's out there."

            Nodding, Xander returned to the file cabinet.  He tugged on the bottom drawer, his muscles straining to open the locked metal cabinet.  Anya sighed and crossed the room, one hand grasping the drawer handle and effortlessly yanking the drawer open.  She flashed Xander a bright smile before returning to the desk.

Shaking his head slightly, Xander peeked into the drawer and began to sift through the jumbled contents.  Along the edge of the metal cabinet, he found a small tape recorder.  He clicked on the play button, and the sound of fabric rustling filled the small office, followed by a door opening and closing.   

            "_Here's your camera."  A woman's voice.  A bit muffled by the static, but still smooth and confident.  "_Try_ _to mount it someplace high, preferably near the ceiling.  Do you have any questions?_"_

            "_No."  A male voice.  Arrogant and gravelly.  "__This chick must have done something real bad to piss you guys off.  What did she do?  Beat you in the beauty pageant?"_

            "_What she did is not your concern."  A second male voice.  Arrogant, cultured, with a British accent.  "__Just do what we told you and bring us any useful footage.  We don't like to be kept waiting, Tyler, so I advise you to install the camera as soon as possible."_

            Xander pressed the stop button.  He closed the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and turned to Anya, holding the tape recorder in the air.  "Looks like Tyler did a little spying of his own.  Got whoever ordered this little excursion into voyeurism on tape."  A faint frown pulled at his features.  He glanced at the recorder in his hands.  "The guy sounds familiar."

            "Which one?" Anya asked as she dug through the bottom drawer of the desk.

            "The second guy.  I can't remember…"  Xander shook his head and pocketed the recorder.  "I was in England way too long.  Too many British voices bouncing around in my head.  I can't tell them all apart."

            Anya slid the desk drawer shut and stood.  "No video tapes.  I suppose he already gave the footage to the bad guys."

            "At least with this recorder we know someone, a man and a woman, got Tyler to tape Buffy.  Maybe the psychotic assassin guy was telling the truth about Lilah ordering the hit on us."  Placing the tape recorder in one pocket of his pants, Xander moved towards the battered door and eased it open again.  "I think our job here is done."

            Anya nodded and maneuvered past Xander, stopping right outside the office as she heard a male voice speaking from the main room.  Glancing at Xander, the pair moved toward the room, hugging the smooth white wall of the hallway.  Anya craned her head around the edge of the wall and peeked into the main room.  Faith had her back towards them, a slim knife clutched in her hand, and a tall muscular man with close cropped dark hair stood close to Faith.  

            "So the question is, do you gut me with my own knife and let loose the darkness inside you, or do you wimp out and let me go, guaranteeing more attacks on you and your friends?"  He leaned towards Faith, his mouth close to her ear.  "What's it going to be, Faith?"

            This wasn't good.

*                      *                      *

            Buffy glanced around the dark hallway, taking in the plush carpet, lush abstract paintings, pristine fake plants, and gleaming mahogany desks.  Evil spared no expense in office furnishings.  Everything was screaming with the fact that it was ridiculously expensive.  She rolled her eyes at the décor, mulling over the fact that bypassing Wolfram and Hart's exterior line of defenses had been as easy as Angel had said it would be.  Go up to the front door, pull it open, and walk into the building.  The slightly more difficult part had occurred with getting her, Angel, and Spike up the three flights of stairs and into Lilah Morgan's office unnoticed by the remaining employees.  

So far so good.    

            Slipping out of the stairwell into the third floor hallway, Buffy glanced over her shoulder at Angel and Spike.  She nodded slightly, and the two vampires moved into the hall, passing her and continuing down the deserted foyer.  She followed silently, watching Angel and Spike.  The last time the three of them had been working together had been when Spike had returned to Sunnydale, drunk and delirious, determined to make Drusilla love him again.  She and Angel had been 'not-quite-friends,' a fact that Spike had smugly pointed out to them as soon as he was sober.  

            _Love isn't brains, children.  It's blood, blood screaming inside you to work its will.      _

            She couldn't rationally stop herself from loving Angel then.  Her body had called to his, her blood had screamed its will of wanting him and only him.  But now… now, she and Spike were 'not-quite-friends,' and Angel and Cordelia were 'more-than-friends,' a development that was as mind boggling to Buffy as Cordelia the Higher Being.  The two brunettes had spent every minute together since Cordelia's return from the land of Glowy Higher Being people earlier in the day.  Buffy grimaced at their mushiness.  There were five floors of rooms in the hotel, and they couldn't find one suitable one for their love fest?

Buffy sighed.  She was just jealous of the open, unrestrained, affection Angel and Cordelia had for each other.  _You could have it, too_, the little voice in Buffy's head whispered_.  It's right there in front of you.  _Her hazel eyes darted to Spike.  A small smile appeared on her face as she watched him glance over his shoulder at her and smile.

_  Mmm… pretty.  _Eyes widening, Buffy shook her head quickly, attempting to banish the crazy thoughts swirling through her mind about Spike.  Rationally, none of this made sense.  She shouldn't want Spike, and he shouldn't have wanted her.  They were supposed to be mortal enemies.  And Angel shouldn't love Cordelia, the Bitch Queen of Sunnydale High.  But he did.  Even if it was weird.  

            Angel and Cordelia.  Buffy and Spike.  It made sense, not in Buffy's mind, but in her heart and in her gut and in her blood.  In her blood that rushed through her veins whenever Spike was near.  In her blood that burned whenever she looked into his eyes and saw all that he had done, the bad and the good, and all that he was, the demon and the man.  In her blood that pounded through her body, screaming its will, its desire, and its need for Spike.  

            Love wasn't brains, all stiff and formal and logical.  It was blood, hot and messy and emotional.  

            And despite all of the logical reasons for her not to, all of the million reasons starting with the fact that she was a Slayer and Spike was a vampire and ending with their tortured, tangled farce of a relationship last year, despite all of her fears and doubts and insecurities and the overwhelming terror that seized her body when she calmly and rationally thought about it, Buffy loved Spike.

            Buffy froze in the middle of the third floor hall of Wolfram and Hart as her brain repeated the phrase.  She loved Spike.  Buffy the Vampire Slayer loved William the Bloody Vampire.  Oh god.  Her head swam, the room beginning to sway as all of the blood disappeared from her head.  She blinked a few times and attempted to suck in a breath but found that her muscles had seized up.  Leaning back against the wall, Buffy stuck her head between her knees, forcing her lungs to fill with oxygen and the blood to return to her brain.  Perfect timing, brain.  Earth shattering revelation while breaking into evil law firm with former and current loves.  A half-hysterical, half-elated giggle escaped her lips.  Current love.  

            She was in love with Spike.

            But what if he didn't love her anymore?  Sure, he came back to Sunnydale to apologize to her, and Dawn said he was still in love with her, but what if he didn't?  What if all he wanted to be was friends?  

            Buffy groaned as she felt the room begin to spin again.

            "Buffy?  Buffy?"

            Snapping her head up, Buffy locked eyes with Spike, who stood before her, concern shining from his clear, vivid, vibrant cerulean eyes.  

            "Are you alright?"

            "Huh?"  Buffy blinked, tearing her gaze away from Spike, attempting to clear her hormone bombarded head.  

            "Are you Ok?"

            Her eyes darted from Spike to Angel, noticing that the brunette stood at the end of the hall before an open door.  He was looking back at them, a slight frown on his face.  She looked at Spike again and nodded weakly.  "Yeah, I'm Ok.  A big bundle of fine is me."  Buffy pushed off the wall and edged past Spike, keeping as close to the wall as possible out of fear of another attack from her overactive libido.  She reached Angel and followed him into the massive office.  A wide cherry desk sat off to the left, a manila envelope and brass lamp the only items gracing the smooth surface; a plush leather chair resided behind the desk.  A few armchairs circled a low coffee table to the right of the door.  The rest of the office was open space, the view enhanced by the wall of windows looking out on the nighttime Los Angeles skyline.  

            "Wow," Buffy murmured.  

            "Yeah.  Crime certainly does pay," Spike said as he walked past Buffy, lightly brushing against her and causing her to jump.  He tilted his head against the glass, peering through the flawless, smudge free window at the twinkling L.A. skyline.

            Buffy forced herself to turn away from Spike and the window.  She saw Angel standing next to the desk, the large manila envelope in his hands.  Buffy moved towards the desk as she said, "Found something?"   

            "Maybe.  It was sitting on Lilah's desk.  There's no name on it."  Angel opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of black and white photographs.  Another frown crossed his face as he studied the pictures.  

            "What is it?"

            "Pictures of Lilah.  Looks like someone was spying on her."

            "Is she in Sunnydale?" Spike asked as he pushed away from the window and walked towards Buffy and Angel.

            Angel shrugged.  "Maybe.  She's coming out of some building. I don't recognize it though."  He handed the stack of photographs to Buffy.  She looked at the woman in the photograph.  Lilah was tall, thin, dressed in a killer suit; she had gorgeous hair and an expensive leather briefcase.  She was walking out of a massive brick building.  Spike leaned over her shoulder, snorting as he took in the photograph.

            "That's the building I saw your wanker of a boss go into," Spike said to Buffy, pointing at the building behind Lilah.  "The one on Mulholland Drive.  Seems like the assassin bloke told the truth."

            Buffy gnawed on her lower lip.  "Maybe."

            "What is it?" Spike asked.

            "I don't know.  Doesn't it seem odd that Lilah would have these pictures of her in Sunnydale?  And that she would leave them unprotected on her desk, out in the open, where anyone can find them?"

            "Maybe someone planted them here," Angel said.  "Expected us to come looking for something to tie Lilah to the attacks in Sunnydale."

            "But that means-"  The door to Lilah's office burst open and five armed guards entered, guns raised and locked on Buffy, Spike, and Angel.  They were dressed in black, an odd assortment of weapons, knives, stakes, and other items, strapped to their body.  Buffy slid the pictures back into the manila envelope as she said, "That means this is a trap.  Great."

*                      *                      *


	26. Escape

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.  _

AN:  I do not own and I am in no way affiliated with _Pretty Woman_, _Legally Blonde_, _Sleepless in Seattle, or __Breakfast at Tiffany's.  Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, and many thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some. _

Chapter Twenty-Six: Escape

By: Wynn

            His breath was hot and moist on her neck.  A shiver of disgust ran down her spine.  His words echoed in her ears, sparking images of horror and torture to flash into her mind.  Faith shivered again.  Her body was frozen with indecision.  To kill or not to kill?  That was the eternal question, the question that haunted her like low-lying fog, slowly sinking through her thoughts, a constant presence in her mind.  She didn't want to once again become the out of control, scared little girl, full of bravado and nothing else.  She couldn't go down that path again.  But then what-

            Faith started as she felt Tyler's fingertips brush against her hand, creeping closer to the hilt of the dagger.  She blinked once, the doubts and confusion fleeing from her mind, and she smirked, a humorless curving of her full lips.  "Nice try."  Faith took a step back, lifted her right leg, and kicked Tyler hard in the chest.  He sailed across the room, crashing against the wall, a harsh groan and a spray of blood bursting from his mouth as he collapsed onto the jagged pieces of the broken trophy case.

            "Nice.  Fucking.  Try."  Pacing like a caged animal, dangerous, unpredictable, her dark eyes glittering with fury, Faith said, "Using your Freudian psychobabble shit to fuck with my head while you slip in and steal the knife right from my hands.  Real slick of you.  Too bad it didn't work."  

            Faith crossed the room and lifted Tyler off the ground, throwing him against the wall with one hand, eliciting another pain filled moan from his bloodied mouth.  "You know what I hate worse than liars?" she asked, her voice low and soft and deadly.  "People who try to play me.  People like you who think I'm dumb enough to fall for your manipulative shit."  A cruel smile twisted her lips as Faith lifted the dagger and drug the tip across Tyler's face.  "It's been a long, long time since I made a man scream using a knife.  But it's just like riding a bike… you never really forget."

            "Faith, no!"

            The next minute was a blur, passing as quickly as lightning, yet lingering as long as eternity in Faith's mind.  As her dark eyes flickered from Tyler to the mirror, locking onto the reflected form of Xander beside the entrance to the main room of the dojo, Faith heard the debris shift from the trophy case and felt Tyler's hand lock onto the knife.  Before the thought that she was seriously in danger completely formed in her mind, Tyler wrenched her arm, snatched the knife, and forced the blade up to her neck.  The tip of the dagger dug into her flesh as Tyler stood and pressed himself against her back, his free hand clamping across Faith's mouth, forcing her to tilt her chin into the air and further expose the smooth expanse of the flesh of her neck.  

            "Well, well, well," Tyler murmured, his mouth once more pressed against her ear.  "Looky here, sweetheart.  _My knife in __my hand pressed against _your_ throat.  Isn't this an interesting turn of events?"  He tilted his head and looked at Xander.  "Thanks, man, for the superb distraction.  I couldn't have done this without you."_

            The color drained from Xander's face, his skin becoming pasty white as he stared at Tyler and Faith.  "I didn't-"

            "Of course you didn't," Tyler said.  "And that's the icing on the cake.  Now answer this or hunny here is dead.  Are there any other of your little friends hiding around?"

            A moment of hesitation hung in the air before Xander opened his mouth and said, "No."

            "Now why don't I believe you?" Tyler said.  "Maybe 'cause of your not at all subtle hesitation over how to answer my very simple question."  

            Faith stiffened as the dagger lightly sliced across the tender skin of her throat and a warm rivulet of blood trailed down her neck.  She wanted to slap Xander for his idiocy.  Did he really believe she was going to torture Tyler in the middle of his shop while they were breaking, entering, and stealing?  Sure, she was angry at being so easily manipulated by his calculating words, but Faith was in control of her anger, able to curb the rage induced need to beat the shit out of Tyler, and use her emotions constructively.  She knew no amount of polite discussion would prevent Tyler from telling his bosses about their knowledge of the hidden cameras.  Only brute force and physical intimidation would have neutralized him long enough for Faith, Anya, and Xander to transport him to the Summers home for questioning and containment.  But that was all shot to hell thanks to Xander and his constant suspicion of Faith.    

            "Whoever's hiding better come out in under five seconds," Tyler said, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the empty dojo, "or she is dead.  One-"

            Anya appeared directly in front of Faith and Tyler, having teleported into the main room from wherever she had been hiding.  Her mouth was a grim, hardened line, and her eyes flashed with rage and worry.  "It seems we're at a bit of an impasse," she said, her gaze locked on Tyler.  "You're threatening to kill Faith so you can get out of this dojo alive.  Yet if you kill Faith in your attempt to escape, you are a dead man because I _will hunt you down and kill you.  So your only bargaining chip is your death warrant."_

            "Looks like."

            "So the question is what are you going to do now?  Increase the probability of the continuation of your sorry existence by releasing Faith, or ensure your slow, painful death by using the knife in your hands?  It's your choice."

            A minute passed.  The air in the dojo was heavy and still.  Mind racing on possible ways of escaping Tyler's clutches, Faith drew in a deep breath and tensed, preparing to make some sort of move against him.  She froze as Tyler increased his hold over her mouth and jaw.

            "I like to play the odds," Tyler said as planted a bloody kiss on Faith's temple and jerked the dagger across her throat. 

*                      *                      *

            "Julia."

            "Reese."

            "Reese?  Now way.  Definitely Julia."

            Wrinkling her nose, Dawn shook her head at Clem's choice for movie night.  With Buffy and Spike in L.A., Giles with Emilia, Willow thankfully elsewhere, and Anya, Faith, and Xander breaking into Buffy's creepy boss's place, Dawn and Clem were home alone, debating which video they would watch.  Dawn shifted her sling and pointed to the DVD of _Legally Blonde_.  "Reese.  She's wicked funny and has the best clothes."

            Clem moved over to the TV and grabbed his copy of _Pretty Woman.  "Julia.  She sings Prince and has the best clothes the early 1990's had to offer.  It's a classic."_

            "Exactly.  Classic as in old.  Outdated.  Reese is it."

            Sighing, Clem placed _Pretty Woman_ on the low coffee table.  He grabbed a second movie and held it before Dawn.  "What about Meg?  _Sleepless in __Seattle_?"

            Arching one brow, Dawn opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a knock on the front door.  She crossed the living room and peeked through the peep hole.  Grabbing the door handle, Dawn pulled open the door and smiled broadly at Giles and Emilia.  "Hey Giles."  Dawn reached past Giles and grabbed Emilia's hand, pulling her through the entrance and into the living room.  "I am _so_ glad that you are here.  I need some help."

            "What is it Dawn?" Giles asked as he closed the door.  "Are you alright?  Is something wrong?"

            "No… well, maybe if Clem gets his way."  Dawn sat Emilia on the couch and handed her the _Legally Blonde_ DVD.  "I'm trying to bring Clem into the modern age of romantic comedies.  He's still stuck in the stone age of the early '90's.  Anyway, I vote for Reese for movie night, but Clem insists on Julia or Meg."  Shaking her head in disbelief, Dawn looked at Clem, rolling her eyes in mock irritation as he enthusiastically waved _Pretty Woman_ in the air.  

            Turning back to Emilia, Dawn said, "So we need another opinion, and the concept of a quality romantic comedy is about as foreign to Giles as leather pants."

            "Actually-" 

            "Let me live in the safe land of denial, Emilia.  Please."  Dawn cast an involuntary sidelong glance at Giles, who coughed slightly as he turned and left the living room.  Inwardly grimacing at the mental image of Giles in leather pants, Dawn looked back at Emilia and said, "So… what do you think?  Reese or Julia?"

            Emilia pursed her lips, her wide violet eyes traveling from Dawn to Clem and back again.  "I don't know.  I was quite fond of Audrey Hepburn."

            "Oh, yeah!"  Clem moved to the couch and sat next to Emilia as he said, "_Breakfast at Tiffany's _is the best."

            A wide grin appeared on Emilia's face.  "Definitely."

            Dawn sighed and slumped into the nearby armchair, blue eyes watching Clem and Emilia discuss the film oeuvre of Audrey Hepburn.  Another knock sounded through the house, prompting Dawn to push off the chair and walk to the front door.  Her face hardened as she looked through the peep hole.  A second knock echoed through the house as Dawn turned away from the door and returned to the living room.  Scowling, she plopped into the chair and attempted to cross her arms over her chest, mentally cursing at her stupid sling.  Out of the corners of her eyes, Dawn saw Giles move into the room, his gaze flickering from the front door to Dawn.

            "Dawn?"

            Glancing at Giles, Dawn said, "What?"

            "Who is at the door?"

            "No one."

            A third knock.

            Raising one eyebrow, Giles crossed the room and opened the front door.  "Ah.  Hello, Willow.  How are you?"

            Willow smiled at Giles, hesitation and nervousness apparent in her vibrant green eyes.  Her glossy red hair hung in two braids down her back, and the color of health and vitality had returned to her cheeks.  "Hey, Giles.  I'm doing good.  Can I, um, come in?"

            "Oh!  Of course.  Come in Willow."

            Smiling her thanks, Willow entered the Summers home, her eyes darting to Dawn before locking onto Giles.  

            "Is there something in particular you needed, Willow?" Giles asked.  

            "Actually, yes.  I need to talk with Dawn."

*                      *                      *

            Spike sighed as the five armed guards fanned throughout Lilah's office, their weapons trained on himself, Buffy, and Angel.  He resisted the urge to launch himself over the desk and smack Angel upside the head.  It was The Poof's idea to break into Wolfram and Hart, saying the three of them would be in and out of the law firm in five minutes without being detected.  Obviously, Angel's assessment of his powers of subterfuge was severely lacking in the accuracy department.

            One of the guards stepped towards Buffy, raising the gun and aiming it at her face.  "Drop the envelope and put your hands above your head." 

            Buffy rolled her eyes and dropped the envelope of pictures onto the floor next to Lilah's desk.  Her hazel gaze flickered to Spike then to the desk before locking onto the guard standing in front of her.  

            Spike blinked once.  He looked at Angel, catching the brunette's attention, and then focused on the guards before them.  Out of the corners of his blue eyes, he saw Angel nod imperceptibly.  

            "Put your hands above your head," the guard said again, taking another step closer to Buffy.

            "I don't think so," she said as she grabbed the brass lamp off Lilah's desk and hurled it at the guard.  It smashed against his forehead with a sickening crunch.  The guard's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious, his gun clattering to the ground.  

            As the unconscious guard tumbled to the floor, Spike and Angel grabbed the oak desk and threw it at three of the guards.  The massive desk collided with the three men, knocking them to the ground.  Two guards were pinned beneath the heavy desk while the third lay slumped unconscious against the wall.  Their weapons had scattered throughout the room upon impact with the desk.  

            As the desk collided with the three guards, Buffy snatched the weapon out of the last remaining guard's hands and rammed the butt of the gun into his temple.  He swayed for a moment before falling to the floor.  Buffy tossed the gun across the room and retrieved the discarded envelope of pictures.  "Time to go!" she yelled as she sprinted for the door.

            The three raced through the door and into the third floor hallway of Wolfram and Hart, Angel in the lead, Buffy in the middle, and Spike bringing up the rear.  They rounded the corner and ran for the stairwell.  A door smashed open behind them.  Spike glanced over his shoulder, and he saw four guards enter the hallway from a room opposite Lilah's office and turn towards them.  They too had guns and other weapons strapped to their body.  

            "We got company," Spike said as Angel burst through the door leading to the stairwell.

            "How many?" Angel asked.

            "Four."

            "Are they armed?" 

            "Yeah."

            Spike moved into the stairwell and slammed the door behind him.  He twisted the handle, pulling it off in his hands and tossing it to the floor.  As he followed Buffy and Angel down the stairs, he heard the four guards slam against the door and attempt to pry it open.  Two gunshots rang through the narrow corridor and the third floor door crashed open.  Spike reached the first floor as four sets of boots pounded down the metal stairs.  He passed through the threshold and closed the door, once again yanking off the handle in an attempt to slow down their pursuers.  

            The first floor corridor was dark and deserted.  The doors lining both sides of the hallway were closed.  The front exit lay at the end of the long hall, the night sky visible through the glass panes.  "Why do I get the feeling this is where the trap really kicks in?" Spike asked as he moved down the shadowed passage, keeping close to Buffy, his senses searching for any sign of movement and finding none.

            Light flooded the corridor as three doors burst open and guards poured into the hall.  A steel gate began to descend from the ceiling over the glass front doors, blocking their exit out of Wolfram and Hart.  Spike blinked once, clearing his vision, and looked behind him, eyes widening at the amount of armed goons running towards them.  "Shit."  He turned and pushed Buffy down the hall.  "Go.  Now!"  He, Buffy, and Angel sprinted for the front doors as the guards behind them opened fire.  Chunks of plaster exploded around Spike as bullets slammed into the walls.  He saw Angel move into the lobby and reach the set of glass doors, moving underneath the steel gate and halting its descent.  

            "Come on!" Angel yelled, his muscles straining from the effort to hold up the gate.   

            Spike sprinted out of the hallway and into the lobby.  Buffy ran across the entryway and ducked under the gate, kicking at the glass doors, trying to force them open.  The single gunshot blasted through the hall, the echo unnaturally loud in the chaos of their escape from Wolfram and Hart.  Spike skidded to a halt as the bullet slammed into his back, between his shoulder blades, and burst through his chest.  He glanced down at the widening circle of blood staining his black T-shirt, and he raised one hand and gingerly touched the open wound.  

            "Spike!"

            He looked up at Buffy.  She moved away from the doors towards him, eyes wide with shock, fear and worry etched across her face.  He fell to his knees as she reached him, blood dripping from the bullet hole on his chest onto the cold tiles of the lobby floor.  He met her gaze as he whispered, "Wood… bullet," and collapsed onto the floor.

*                      *                      *


	27. Hell Hath No Fury

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc. own them._

AN: Quote used from _Selfless_ (Drew Goddard is a genius.)  Many thanks to everyone who has been so kind as to leave a review.  They are much appreciated.  And many thanks to SpikeLover7, my wonderful beta.  

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Hell Hath No Fury

By: Wynn

            It didn't gush.  It seeped slowly down, staining the pale cream of her skin, pooling in the hollow of her throat, creeping into the fibers of her ebony shirt.  The blood was beyond red.  It was crimson… scarlet…  There was so much.  Drops fell onto the floor, arcing through the air, a graceful descent followed by the violent collision with the ground.  

            A faint gurgle jerked Anya out of her stupor.  She locked eyes with Faith, the brunette's dark gaze panicked… afraid, her mouth moving but no words coming forth.  Anya looked from Faith to Tyler, pure fury beginning to boil within her at the sight of the sadistic grin on his face.  He winked as he shoved Faith into her arms and streaked past them, gunning for the exit.  Anya's hands slipped across Faith's blood soaked skin, and the two slid to the ground, Faith's eyes fluttering closed as her head lolled to the side.  

            "No!  Faith!"  Anya shook the brunette, one hand clamping over her neck to stave off the blood flow.  Trembling, she pried open one of Faith's eyelids as she yelled, "Faith!  Wake up!  Faith!"  The Slayer jerked her head out from under Anya's fingers as she reopened her eyes.  "You-"  

            The sounds of a struggle tore Anya's attention from Faith.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Xander grappling with Tyler, attempting to stop him from escaping as well as evading the maroon tinged dagger held in his hand.  Xander grunted as Tyler kicked him in the chest and he tumbled to the ground, the tape recorder found during the office search slipping out of his pocket.  Tyler snatched the recorder off the floor, kicked Xander again, and sprinted for the doors, crashing through them, disappearing into the night.

            Anya blinked once, the sound of glass and metal clanging closed ringing in her mind, displacing the panic over the condition of her best friend with an undiluted, all consuming, desperate need for retribution.  For vengeance.  She looked at Faith again.  Her golden brown eyes were devoid of any emotion; her hand shook as she smoothed a stray strand of hair off Faith's face.  Standing, Anya turned and walked to Xander, hauling him off of the floor.  "Help Faith.  Call someone to help her," she said as she pushed Xander toward the main room and moved toward the exit.

            "What-"

            "Don't let her die, Xander.  Please.  I am trusting you to help her."

            "Where are-"

            Anya spun back towards him, her demon visage surging forth as she screamed, "JUST DO IT!"  She closed her eyes, forcing the tears back, pushing aside the terror that threatened to seize control of her mind if she dwelled on the fact that death was slowly approaching Faith and there was nothing she could do to stop it.    

            "Anya…"  She heard the pleading note in his voice, and she knew that he knew what she was going to do.  

            "It's vengeance, Xander," she said as she opened her eyes and looked at him, breaking at expression upon his face, shattering with the realization that there would be no turning back from this, that what little hope there had been for a reconciliation between her and Xander would vanish if she left to pursue Tyler.  "It's my job.  My purpose.  _Vengeance is what I am."  She drew in a deep breath and teleported out of dojo._

*                      *                      *

            Wood bullet.  The concept was unbelievable, an oxymoron in the truest sense of the word.  Bullets were metal and wood was wood, and metal was not wood.  It was about as far away from wood as a material substance could get.  Yet the bullet was wood.  It was real.  And it was in Spike.

            Buffy stared down at Spike, lying facedown on the cold tiled floor, her mind momentarily frozen as she took in his closed eyes and open mouth, his face haggard and covered with pain.  Her eyes darted to the pool of blood creeping out from beneath him, and she sprang into action.  

            "Spike.  Spike!  Get up!  We have to get out of here now."  Buffy hooked her hands underneath Spike's arms and pulled him to his feet.  She threw his arm over her shoulder and began to move towards the still descending steel gate and glass doors.  They were halfway across the lobby; the gate was halfway to the ground.  She watched Angel readjust his grip on the metal barricade, the envelope of pictures mashed between his hand and the gate, his muscles taut through the effort to halt its descent.  Buffy slipped in the pool of blood that lay beneath her feet and fell to the floor, a ragged moan of pain torn from Spike as he collided with the hard ground.

            Hazel eyes darting to the hallway, Buffy saw the armed guards charging towards them.  There were ten, maybe twelve, fast approaching the foyer.  She clamored to her feet and reached for Spike again, grasping his shirt as she said, "Need to move!  Now!"

            His hands splayed across the bloodied ground, and he pushed himself to his feet.  "Moving."  His voice was soft and thin, not even remotely resembling its usual full, rich timbre.  A surge of panic coursed through Buffy, and her hands tightened on his shoulders as they crossed the lobby.  He will be fine.  This is no big.  Like a walk through the park, full of puppies and other cute non-deadly things.  He will be- 

            An alarm began to sound through the building as Buffy and Spike neared the front doors, and small holes appeared in the ceiling, along with flashing red lights.  Metal spokes poked through the openings, releasing a torrent of water into the entrance hall.  Buffy frowned.  They had activated the sprinkler system?  Why?

            A harsh scream rang through the hall.  Angel.  She looked at the brunette, her eyes widening as the smoke began to billow off the exposed skin of his hands, face, and neck.  "Angel?"

            "Buffy!  It's holy water!"

            Her gaze snapped to Spike and time stopped.  It was one of those moments that Buffy knew came along once or twice in a lifetime, a moment where everything got flipped upside down, what was insane became sane, and what was once impossible and inconceivable became truth and reality.

            He didn't burn.  The holy water streamed across his bare skin and soaked into the open wounds on his chest and back, and nothing happened.  No blistering, no smoking, no anguished cries of pain.  

            Nothing.

            Buffy blinked as bright, white light flooded the lobby, tearing her from her shock.  She peered through the glass doors and could see the dim outline of Angel's car through the glare, Cordelia in the driver's seat.  The guards opened fire behind them again, the bullets whizzing through the air, slamming into glass and steel and tile.  Buffy continued half-dragging, half-carrying Spike towards the entrance, wincing as a bullet grazed her thigh.  She stumbled for a step, her injured leg sliding across the water slicked ground, but remained upright, and Buffy continued their approach to the twin glass doors.

            One of the doors was ripped from its hinges, glass shards and twisted metal falling from the ceiling onto Angel.  Connor moved into the lobby and shoved the brunette vampire through the jagged opening into the night, assuming his place beneath the steel gate.  He tilted his head towards Spike and Buffy and yelled, "Hurry up!"

            Buffy ducked under the barricade, her shoes crunching across the bits of broken glass, carefully avoiding the chunks still dangling from the ceiling.  She stepped into the night air, Spike by her side, and scrambled for Angel's car.  Cordelia opened the driver's door and moved towards them, slipping under Spike's other arm and helping Buffy move him to the car.  The back door opened, and Angel reached out, latching onto to Spike and dragging him into the backseat.  Buffy slid into the seat and slammed the door behind her.

            "Where's Connor?" Angel asked as he inspected the wound on Spike's chest.

            "He's coming," Cordelia said, resuming her position behind the wheel.  "Got anything?"

            Angel nodded and tossed the crumpled pack of pictures to Cordelia.  

            Through the windshield, Buffy say Connor let go of the steel gate and race for the car.  The metal barricade completed its descent, locking the guards inside the foyer.  Connor wrenched open the passenger door, jumped into the car, and closed it as Cordelia slammed on the gas and rocketed away from Wolfram and Hart.             

*                      *                      *

            "What do you want?"

            "Um… I wanted to talk to you.  That is, if it's Ok with you."

            "It's not.  I don't want to talk to you."  Dawn flipped her hair over her shoulder and, glare firmly in place and chin held high in the air, she strode past Willow towards the living room.

            "Wait.  Please."  Willow maneuvered around Dawn, blocking her path out of the dining room.  "I, um, it's important.  It'll only take a few minutes.  I promise."  

            Rolling her eyes, Dawn heaved a weary, exasperated sigh and said, "Fine.  A few minutes.  Meaning no more than three, alright?"

            Willow nodded.  "Ok."  She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as Dawn turned and stalked back into the dining room.  At least she had agreed to a couple of minutes without Willow having to resort to insane amounts of groveling and pleading.  She knew this conversation with Dawn wasn't going to be the easiest, most pleasant thing in the world Willow had ever experienced, but it was necessary.  For her and for Dawn's sakes.  Willow reopened her eyes and walked back into the dining room, sitting across from Dawn.  

            "So what do you want, Willow?  Got the urge to turn me back into a ball of energy?  Want to destroy the world again?"

            Flinching, Willow sucked in another deep breath and said, "When Tara died, I lost it.  I went into autopilot.  Nothing made sense in my head.  It was all jumbled and noisy, and all I could focus on was her and the look on her face the second before she died and that she was gone and I couldn't bring her back to me.  And I couldn't take it.  I couldn't deal.  And all I knew was that I hurt and I wanted everyone else to hurt too.  First Warren and then Jonathan and Andrew and anyone else who got in my way."  Willow paused.  She fought back the tears that pricked her eyes and swallowed again, her throat constricted with emotion.  "I said some unforgivable things to you Dawn.  I said the cruelest things I could think of so you would hurt like I did.  And I'm sorry.  I know that's not enough.  But it's true."

            Standing, Willow reached into one pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small ring.  The smooth silver band was lined with tiny circular opals.  She placed the ring on the table before Dawn as she said, "This was Tara's.  It was her favorite ring.  She liked opals better than diamonds or emeralds because they had all of the colors inside them and not just one.  She said it was like looking into a rainbow."  A tear slid down her cheek and Willow hastily brushed it away.  She cleared her throat and said, "Um, it's yours, if you want it.  She loved you so much Dawn.  She planned on giving this to you on your sixteenth birthday, but… Um, I should go now.  Thank you, for listening."  Willow moved around the dining room table, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her pants, and approached the front door.  The telephone rang in the distance, and she heard Dawn push away from the table.

            "Opals were her birthstones, too."

            It was barely a whisper.  More of a muttered mumble, nearly inaudible.  Willow turned back towards Dawn, tears once more welling within her green eyes, body trembling from hope and relief and sorrow and guilt.  Dawn stared down at the ring held in her hands, face stained with tracks of tears.

            "Yes, they were," Willow whispered.  

            "Maybe sometime we could, you know, go visit her.  She's next to Mom."

            "I would like that."    

            Dawn nodded.  She wiped her hand across her face, brushing aside the tears, and placed Tara's ring on her finger.  

            "I-"

            "Willow!"

            She started at Giles' yell.  Moving into the living room, Willow saw him grab his jacket off the armchair and throw it on.  His expression was unreadable, but the tense posture of his body sent shivers down her spine.  "What is it, Giles?"

            "That was Xander on the phone.  Faith's been hurt."  He glanced at Dawn.  "Stay here with Emilia and Clem."  Giles strode past Willow and opened the front door.  As he crossed the threshold, he said, "We need to go.  Now."

*                      *                      *

            She saw Tyler running from her perch on the rooftops.  One hand held the bloody dagger while the other clutched the tape recorder.  He kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the dojo as if he expected her to come charging out of the door, hot on his heels, obvious in her pursuit.  

            Stupid man.

            She teleported to the end of the alley, blocking his escape route to Main Street.  His eyes widened when he spotted her, and he skidded to a halt and turned to run in the opposite direction.  Anya teleported again, this time reappearing directly in front of him.  He slammed into her, falling to the ground.  He sprang to his feet and stabbed at her with the knife.  It slid into her stomach, passing through her shirt and her skin like she was hot butter.  Anya looked at the hilt of the dagger, focusing on the crimson fingerprints covering the smooth surface.  She glanced up at him, noticed the smirk on his face, and grasped the handle.  She jerked the blade out of her stomach and thrust it into Tyler's, a cold grin curving her lips at the pain in his eyes, on his face, at the choked cry escaping his lips.  

            The tape recorder clattered to the ground as she said, "Evidently someone hasn't studied the proper methods of killing Vengeance Demons.  Too busy focusing on how to murder humans, I suppose."  Anya yanked the knife out of his stomach, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from him, and threw the dagger onto the roof of the nearby building.  "Knives don't really affect me.  They're quite annoying and bothersome, and I don't want anything distracting me from the pleasure of killing you."  She punched him in the face, shattering the cartilage of his nose and sending him sailing down the alley.  He crashed onto the concrete, the back of his head smacking against the ground and causing him to groan again.

            Moving over to him, Anya lifted him off the ground and sent another punch deep into his stomach.  As he doubled over, she brought her knee up and smashed it into his face.  His head flew back and he toppled to the ground.

            Tyler rolled to his stomach and struggled to his knees.  He swayed as he faced Anya.  "Why… why don't you just… kill me now and be… done with it?"

            Anya walked around him, her stride slow and steady.  "Because you don't deserve a quick, easy death.  And I should know.  I spent one thousand years giving men what they deserve, enacting the vengeance wished by women who were too powerless to do it themselves.  All they did was say the word and I acted."

            "Pretty sure… Faith isn't saying… much of anything... right now."

            Anya froze before Tyler, her spine stiff, muscles tense.  She murmured, "No, she isn't."  Anya grabbed Tyler by the neck and tossed him into the brick wall of the closest building.  She lifted him again, punching him in the stomach, causing him to double over in gasping pain.  "She's lying there in the middle of your store bleeding to death!  She's dying, and it's because of you!"  Anya took a step back and kicked him in the head, her foot colliding with his temple.

            Crumpling to his knees, Tyler said, "Just… doing my job.  You know all about that.  You do the same thing.  Doing vengeance… for someone who can't do it them-"

            "Shut up!"  She punched him again, her fist smashing into his face.  "That wasn't vengeance.  It was murder."

            "Same thing."

            "No, it isn't."

            "You're going to kill me in the name of vengeance.  That pretty much… supports my point."  Tyler leaned back against the brick wall.  His nose was broken and one of his eyes was swollen shut.  Blood streamed from his mouth and temple.  "You kill me she'll kill you.  You think that Buffy chick will want an active vengeance demon loose in her town?  You think that boy in there will step in on your behalf cause he used to love you?  You're a demon.  You're nothing to them, less than human and expendable.  You're nothing."

            "Maybe," Anya whispered.  Her hand lashed out and wrapped around Tyler's throat.  "I'll take my chances though.  I like to play the odds."  His hands clawed at hers, desperately trying to loosen her grip on his neck.  Her mouth crumpled and tears came into her eyes as she watched him struggle, his face contorting, his eyes widening to panic proportions.  He deserved it.  It was vengeance.  And vengeance was what she was, all she had left.

            "Anya, let him go."

            Anya shook her head.  "Go away, Rupert."

            "Oh my god."

            "Willow, go inside and help Faith.  Make sure Xander called an ambulance."

            "Ok, Giles."

            Anya heard Willow walk away as Giles moved towards her.  He stepped close to her, calmly watching as she choked the life out of Tyler.  

            "This will not help Faith," he said quietly.  "I know you're angry and scared, but killing him is not the answer."

            "He deserves it.  She's lying in there dying and he did it.  And it wasn't vengeance or retribution.  He did it because he could.  Because he wanted to.  Because he's a sick bastard who would _chose to kill a girl when he could have let her go."  Her fingers shook as they dug into his throat.  "He chose death."_

            "Maybe so," Giles said quietly.  "But you do not have to make the same choice he did.  You can choose life over death."

            "He doesn't deserve life."

            "I wasn't talking about his life.  I was talking about yours."  Giles edged between Tyler and Anya.  His face was tense, brows pinched over his pale grey eyes.  Eyes that shone with worry and concern and friendship and love.  He smoothed a hand over her hair as he said, "He is not worth killing yourself over.  And that is what you will do if you continue.  The life that you have worked so hard to build here will be nothing if you do this.  Let yourself live and let him go.  There are other ways to deal with him."

            Anya stared at Giles.  Her eyes drifted to the contorted visage of the man she held within her grasp, the broken, bloodied, beaten man, and she felt something loosen within her chest, break through the hard shell of vengeance that had descended upon her when she saw the panicked expression upon Faith's face.  Complete and utter terror that her best friend in the entire world, the only one who didn't give a fig's ass what she had done in her past or how she always said the wrong thing at the right time, would leave her, and she would truly be alone.  She would be nothing.  No one to nobody.  

            Her hand slipped from his neck as the sobs broke through her, and he crashed to the ground, alive but unconscious, and the tension dissolved from her, leaving terrified tremors in its wake.  She leaned into Giles, resting her head on his shoulder as her demon features melted away leaving the frightened young woman in its place.  "I don't want to be alone."

            "You're not," he said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek upon her head.

*                      *                      *


	28. A Good Man

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Many thanks to SpikeLover7, my wonderful beta.  And many, many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my fic.  Your feedback means a lot to me, so please keep it coming.  

Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Good Man

By: Wynn

            He slept, lying flat on his back in the middle of the black cotton sheets, one hand curled onto his bare stomach, the other flung over the edge of the bed.  The smooth expanse of his chest was marred by scars, thin white strips of hardened flesh scattered around in a random pattern courtesy of the violence in which he lived.  His head was tilted to the side, mouth slightly open, shallow breaths passing back and forth between his pale, lush lips.  Dark eyelashes fluttered against his skin as he dreamt, obscuring the clear blue eyes that had haunted her dreams, sent tremors of desire shooting down her spine, and melted her heart with the naked, raw emotion contained within them.  

            Buffy sighed and shifted in her chair.  Nearly two days had passed since the escape from Wolfram and Hart.  The wood bullet had fragmented upon impact, sending slivers and splinters deep into Spike's chest.  Fred, Gunn, and Lorne had spent six long and tense hours extracting each and every shard, six hours in which Buffy used every ounce of self-control and patience she had accumulated over the years to stop herself from descending into full blown panic mode.  Since the trio of make-shift vamp doctors had finished, Spike had slept, waking twice, long enough only to gulp down two mugs of blood before descending into unconsciousness again.

            But it was just as well he stay asleep.  Too much had happened in the last few days, and Buffy needed time to process everything, to make it make sense in her head before her confusion burst out of her mouth in nonsensical, stilted ramblings to any and all who would listen.  A bitter smile crossed her face.  Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor.  She finally admits to herself that she loves Spike, and then… bam!  Earth shattering revelation Number Two in the middle of the evil law firm.  Spike was a vamp but wasn't.  Holy water was no longer a problem for this vampire with a soul.  There was too much to think about, how and why the change happened, possible consequences or repercussions, what else was different about him, so Buffy chose not to think.  

            Instead, she watched him sleep.  

            He looked peaceful.  

            She wondered if he knew she was there, if he could sense her like she could him, a slow and steady pull throughout her body whenever he was near, drawing her closer to him, until she could reach out and touch him, reassure herself of his presence.  Buffy leaned forward in her chair and brushed the tips of her fingers across the twisted scar near his heart, let them drift over his skin until they rested on his lips.

            The door opened and she snatched her hand back.  She smoothed the non-existent wrinkles out of her shirt and waited until Angel moved into the room before she casually lifted her head and looked at him.  His dark eyes were upon her, and she swallowed.  Rising from the chair, she moved towards the door and said, "Hi.  Um, what…"

            "How is he?"  Angel glanced at Spike, the corners of his mouth tilted down in worry and concern.  The burns on his hands and face from the exposure to holy water had healed, leaving no evidence of the previously reddened and blistered flesh.  

            "Sleeping.  Some more.  No big surprise there considering he's been sleeping for a while now.  Not that he shouldn't be sleeping 'cause injury and all, you know, wood bullet in the chest not of the good."  Ramble much, Buff?  Why don't you just staple a sign to your forehead proclaiming your feelings for Spike?

            Angel didn't seem to be bothered by her inability to speak coherently.  "No.  It's not usually good."  He looked at her again as he said, "How are you doing?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "I'm fine.  The bullet just grazed my leg.  No big.  Slayer healing and all."

            "That's not what I meant."

            "Oh."  Here it comes.  The questions.  The lecture.  The overbearing concern for her wellbeing.  Her gaze darted to the floor before sliding over to the bed, to Spike.  Squaring her shoulders, Buffy turned her head back towards Angel.  Times like these called for desperate measures: the lame, obvious change in conversation.  "You're in love with Cordelia."

            Angel stared at her, silent.  His mouth curved into a wisp of a smile and he ducked his head, brown eyes now intent upon the plush carpeting.

            Buffy blinked.  That was a new Angel expression.  A kind of goofy, giddy embarrassment.  She bent over and twisted her body until she was looking up at his face and into his eyes.

            He looked down at her as he said softly, "Yeah, I am.  And you're avoiding."

            She straightened, mouth opened, eyes wide.  "I am _not _avoiding." 

            "Yes, you are."

            Buffy crossed her arms across her chest.  "So what if I am avoiding, which I am not, but what if I was avoiding whatever it is you think I'm avoiding?  You can't force me not to avoid."

            "It's Ok."

            "Ok?  What's Ok?  Do you know how much I hate cryptic talk?"

            "You can talk to me about it if you need to.  I understand."

            "That's good.  _You understand.  Whereas, I haven't understood one word that has come out of your mouth since you walked in here."_

            Angel only smiled at her, a smile full of secret knowledge that made sense only in his head and made her want to hit him really, really hard.  He moved around her and approached the bed, standing silently for a few minutes, staring down at Spike.  He said softly, "The more things change…"  He drifted back into silence.

            Buffy sighed.  Now there was a deep, philosophical utterance to go along with the cryptic talk.  Wonderful.  "What are you talking about?"

            Angel shook his head and turned back towards Buffy.  "I was just thinking about how much he looks like William."  He paused as another small smile appeared on his face.  "Has he ever told you about William?  What he was like?"

            "Sort of.  The one and only time Spike talked to me about his life he lied his ass off.  Told me he was this badass Victorian rebel."  Buffy rolled her eyes.  "He's a horrible liar."

            "Yeah, he is.  William was quiet, sensitive.  He wanted to be a poet in the vein of Shelley or Byron.  They're Romantic po-"

            "I know who they are."

            Angel blinked.  "Oh.  Good.  So he wanted to be a poet, but he was horrible.  Awful.  Truly wretched.  He-"

            "I get it.  He sucked.  Moving on to the point now?"

            "William had the passion for poetry but not the skill.  Which was good because there were already too many passionless people in the Victorian Age.  Everyone repressing their emotions and desires because of social standards and decorum.  But not William.  He was different.  He wore his heart on his sleeve for the entire world to see, baring his deepest desires and wishes to everyone.  And the thing he wanted most in the world wasn't money or social standing.  He wanted love."

            Her body was still, but Buffy's mind was a flurry of activity, trying to discern why Angel was reminiscing about William.  "Why are you telling me this?"

            "Because one hundred years wasn't enough for the demon to kill the good man inside him.  I know.  I tried to break him, to get rid of the last inklings of William that formed the core of Spike, but I never succeeded.  And I hated him for it.  That is until I got my soul."  Angel turned from the bed and walked to Buffy.  "Then I envied him.  For his passion.  For the good man that was buried deep inside him, hidden by the cocky, pain in the ass demon, but never gone for good.  Not like me.  Take away the soul and all that's left is the demon.  A sick, sadistic bastard bent on torture and killing."

            "Angel…"

            "What did you think I was going to do, Buffy?  Tell you that you were wrong to love Spike?  That you deserve better than him?  You do.  Even Spike would tell you that.  But I'm not going to condemn you for feeling the way you do because I know what kind of a man Spike is."

            "I…"

            Angel reached down and grasped Buffy's hand.  "I want you to be happy, Buffy.  That's all I've ever wanted for you.  And if what makes you happy is an impulsive, annoying, cocky, exasperating, irritating, good man who happens to be a vampire with a soul… then that makes you officially crazy.  Happy, but crazy."

            She knew her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were doing the whole bugging-out-of-their-sockets thing that was always freaky looking, but Buffy couldn't help it.  He knew.  Angel knew, and he was Ok with it.  The world was officially coming to an end.  "Ok… who are you and what have you done with Angel?  Because he would have been all brood, brood, brood, hate Spike, protect Buffy, brood some more."

            Angel laughed and drew her into a hug.  "Thank you for the astute assessment of my character, Buff."

            "I meant-"

            He leaned back and looked down at her.  A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.  "I know what you meant."

            She smiled and placed her head on Angel's chest, her hazel eyes resting on Spike.  "Thank you for understanding," she whispered.

            "You're welcome."  Angel stepped away from her and moved towards the door.  He crossed the threshold as he said, "Plus, Spike knows I'll stake him faster than he can say 'Bloody hell' if he so much as lays a finger on you."

            "Hey!"

            Angel glanced over his shoulder at Buffy, a wicked, mischievous smirk on his face.  He held her gaze for a moment before he pulled the door closed behind him.

*                      *                      *

            He was in hell.  His eyelids were stuck together, his mouth was dry, and his tongue was like sandpaper.  His mind was a hazy fog, trying to shake off the remaining vestiges of unconsciousness and regretting the action as the first few lances of pain radiated from his chest with the speed and force of a runaway freight train.

            "Oh… bloody hell."

            Prying his eyes open, Spike stared at the stucco ceiling, drawing in hisses of breath from between his clenched teeth.  His entire chest cavity ached, which was expected since he had had three sets of hands poking and prodding his tender flesh for far, far too long looking for tiny pieces of wood.  

            "I ever find the bloody bastard that invented sodding wood bullets," he grumbled as he rolled to his side, "bastard's a dead man."  Spike pushed himself into a sitting position and placed his feet on the floor.  The room was empty and the door was open, but the air was still warm from the presence of Buffy.  He shook his head slowly as he stood.  Bloody stubborn chit probably hadn't gotten any sleep in the last couple of days from watching over him.  That was going to change now that Spike had rejoined the Land of the Conscious.  She was going to rest if he had to drag her kicking and screaming to her bed.  Grimacing, he walked over to his bag and pulled out a soft black T-shirt, another bolt of pain shooting throughout his body.  So maybe Angel, Gunn, and Connor would drag her kicking and screaming.

            "What the hell are you doing?"

            "Getting dressed," he said, pulling the shirt over his head and smoothing it across his chest.  "What does it look like?"

            He heard Buffy sigh and stalk across the room, latching onto his elbow and forcing him back to the bed.  "You're supposed to be resting.  And healing, in case you've forgotten about the recent hole put through your chest from the lawyer goons."

            "Haven't forgotten.  Just tired of… sleeping…"  Bloody hell... 

            Her feet were bare, toes painted a shiny cherry red.  The black pants riding low on her hips molded to her curves, exposing the smooth expanse of her tanned stomach peeking from beneath the nearly unbuttoned scarlet shirt she wore, the two sections of silk held together by two buttons over the middle of her chest.  Her glossy honey hair hung in soft waves, framing the face that left him breathless.  Wide hazel eyes with impossibly long lashes and full crimson lips that caused trembles to shoot across his skin.  He closed his eyes, sucked in a lungful of air, and nearly moaned at the hint of lavender invading his senses.  

            "Spike?  Spike?  Are you alright?"

            He jumped at the feel of her hand on his arm, the heat emanating off her body, igniting infernos beneath his skin.

            "Oh!  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to, um, make you uncomfortable.  I'll just go."

            "No!"  His eyes flew open, and he reached for her, drawing back as she turned towards him again, confusion and concern swirling within her hazel eyes.  "Sorry.  It's not you.  I'm still kind of… woozy, you know, from being asleep for so long.  I'm fine now.  Um, how are you?"

            "I'm Ok.  Are you sure you're fine because-"

            "I'm alright, Buffy."  My hormones decided to re-enact the Invasion of Normandy on my body, but I'm fine_.  He flashed a reassuring smile, his blue eyes drifting across her red top, his fingers reaching out to brush against the cool fabric.  "Is that… my shirt?"_

            Her eyes widened and she giggled nervously, a rosy blush tinting her skin.  "Um, yeah.  It was… uh… Clem, he was, um, there, and he said that… yeah… You weren't… so I took it to keep.  For you.  'Cause it's your, um, shirt."

            He couldn't help the smile from forming on his lips as he listened to her babble, her voice a little breathless, her skin flushed, fingers fidgeting with the tiny black buttons.  "Looks better on you, luv."

            "Yeah, it does."

            "Thanks, pet."  She blushed again, and he laughed as she swatted him across the arm, a mock frown pulling at her features.  "So what's the occasion for the outfit?"

            "I have a date."

            "What?"  The grin slipped from his face as he slid onto the bed.  His throat constricted and he struggled to force the words out of his mouth.  "You have a what?"

            "A date.  Well, maybe more of an informal business meeting.  I don't really know how to describe it.  It's not everyday a Slayer, half-demon Higher Being Thing, and an ex-other dimension Slave with an eerie Physics aptitude interrogate an evil lawyer who is possibly trying to kill us and, even worse, possibly sleeping with my ex-Watcher." 

            Spike blinked.  "What?"

            Buffy patted Spike on the head, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles.  "Brain isn't fully functioning yet?  That's what thirty-six hours of sleep will do."  A wide grin curved her ruby lips.  She sat next to Spike.  There were no sounds in the room, save for her quiet breathing.  A minute passed.  It stretched into two.  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath as she murmured, "You almost died."

            Spike tilted his head and looked at her.  Her eyes were focused on the wall before them; her entire body was tense.  "But I didn't."

            She sighed, her taut muscles relaxing, and she turned her head towards Spike, glancing at him from beneath her dusky lashes.  "I know.  Don't do it again, Ok?"

            He searched her hazel eyes and fell into the depths of emotion she hid from the world, from her friends, from him pooling within her green and gold orbs.  He felt the room tilt and a soft, insistent tug on his soul, pulling him towards her, drawing him towards her.  "I'll try not to," he said, his voice low.  "Same goes for you."

            Buffy nodded.  She leaned towards him and rested her head on his shoulder. He reached up and smoothed a hand on her glossy honey hair.

            Same goes for you.

*                      *                      *

            That look.  He had never seen it before.  Not on her.  At least not when she was looking at him.  Before the acquisition of his soul, there had been loathing and hate and lust and fear.  After the soul, there had been confusion and pity and remorse and heartbreak.  But this was new and strange and complicated and confusing.

            Sighing, Spike shoved the blanket off his legs and eased off the bed.  Buffy had left twenty minutes ago, popping into his room long enough to order him to stay in bed and get more rest before leaving with Cordelia and Fred.  He entered the small bathroom, flicked on the lights, and twisted the cold water faucet, splashing the icy liquid on his face.  He looked into the mirror and stared at the blurred, hazy reflection.  Anya had told him of his newly reflected status after his return to Sunnydale; she had seen it in the kitchen window here in the Hyperion during her man-hating bonding time with Faith.  Spike hadn't told anyone of the change, planning to research but waylaid by the events of the last few weeks.  But now he was immune to holy water and the time for research had arrived.    

            He left the bathroom and made his way downstairs, pausing on the stairs.  Spike raised one eyebrow and looked around the Hyperion's lobby.  Angel sat in his office while Lorne and Gunn stood around the front desk.  Connor lay sprawled across the circular sofa in the middle of the room.  Four perfectly healthy males of the human and demon variety doing absolutely nothing but standing or sitting or sprawling, twiddling their thumbs.        

            "Someone want to tell me how we got stuck here while Buffy, Cordelia, and Fred went out to question the lawyer bint?" Spike said as he completed his descent down the stairs.  

            Angel pushed away from his desk and walked into the lobby, one hand rubbing against the back of his neck.  "Buffy was tired of waiting, so she decided tonight was the night to question Lilah about the pictures we found of her in Sunnydale.  I didn't want her going alone, so Cordelia said she would go."

            "This was after you volunteered to go with Buffy," Lorne said as he turned towards Angel.  "But then our delightful Cord reminded you of your vampire status and how Lilah probably wasn't going to be to keen to invite you into her apartment."

            "So Fred hears that Cordelia and Buffy are going to Lilah's," Gunn said, his dark eyes locked on Spike, "and she jumps onto the interrogation bandwagon too.  Doesn't want to be left behind with the guys while Buffy and Cordelia are out having all the fun."

            "Buffy was going to protest Fred's involvement," Angel said.  "But Lorne here had to point out the Charlie's Angels vibe going between the three of them.  So Fred was in, we were out, and now they're gone."

            Spike nodded.  "So what are you going to do then?  Sit around and wait for them to get back?"

            Angel shrugged.  "We thought we'd go out and kill some things."

            "Good thing about L.A.," Gunn said as he moved from the front desk to the weapons cabinet. "There's always some evil nasty lurking around just waiting to be killed."  He pulled a large double-sided ax out of the wood and glass cabinet and twirled the steel weapon in his hand, watching the light glint off the gleaming metal.  "You coming?" he asked Spike.

            Shaking his head, Spike crossed the lobby and eased onto the stool next to Lorne.  "No.  Buffy'll stake me if I leave the hotel.  She's probably going to stake me anyway for leaving the bed and 'not getting enough rest to heal properly.'  It's not like I haven't been unconscious for two sodding days."

            Angel smiled and shook his head as he moved past Spike towards the weapons cabinet.  

            "What?"

            Quickly shaking his head, Angel grabbed a few stakes and placed them in the pocket of his jacket.  "Nothing."  Off of Spike's look, he continued, "It's nothing, William. Can't I be happy that my favorite Childe is undead and well?"

            "No."

            "Fine.  Be a grouch."  Angel walked to the front door where Gunn and Connor were waiting.  Over his shoulder, he said, "Lorne, I give you permission to stake him if he bothers you too much."

            "Will do, cupcake," Lorne said as Angel, Gunn, and Connor disappeared through the twin front doors of the Hyperion.  

            Spike was silent for a moment, watching the doors slam shut, before he turned towards Lorne.  "I have a favor to ask.  You don't have to do this if you don't want to, but-"

            Lorne waved his hand, cutting off Spike, and slid off the stool.  "I know.  But if I can help, I'm going to help."

            "Thank you."

            "No problemo, sweet cheeks."

            "So what do I do?"

            "You sing a song, I read your aura, and hopefully we find out why you're holy water immune while our other resident vamp with a soul is not."

*                      *                      *


	29. Saints, Souls, and Scars

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics designate a flashback.  I do not own _Purple Haze or _Mandy_.  Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my story.  And many thanks to SpikeLover7, my beta.    _

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Saints, Souls, and Scars

By: Wynn

            _It flowed out of her like water slowly spinning down a drain.  Inescapable, inevitable, a slave to fate and gravity.  Faith could feel the warmth spread beneath her, counteracting the cold that seeped through her, as her blood leaked out of the gash on her throat.  The too bright fluorescent lights dazzled her dry eyes.  Maybe it was the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel, although Faith doubted she'd be allowed into heaven after all of the sinning she had done._

_            She dimly heard hushed voices near the door and then a flash of red crossed her line of sight.  __Willow_.  Great.  Tweedle-Dee arrived to catch the front row seat in her demise, probably thanking all of the goddesses she could think of that the 'Queen Slut of Sunnydale' was biting the big one.  __

_            "Xander, she'll be dead before the ambulance gets here.  I have to do this."_

_            "But-"_

_            "You said you trusted me.  Trusted that I could maintain control."_

_            "I do."_

_            Faith wanted to ask what the big plan was, whether they were planning on dumping her body somewhere so they didn't have to deal with the incompetents at the Sunnydale PD.  Her eyes flickered over to __Willow__, widening slightly at the pure black orbs covering the usual green.  Willow glanced down at Faith and lifted her hand, her palm skimming across her face down to her throat.              A flash of green exploded through the room and Faith screamed, her cry echoing in her mind as the world swirled and faded into black._

*                      *                      *

            Her skin was damp with sweat, causing the pale blue sheet surrounding her to stick to her skin.  Faith opened her eyes, the dream memory slipping back into her subconscious.  Peeling the sheet away from her, Faith swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.  The Wicked Wicca of the West had saved her life, and Faith couldn't understand why.  Willow hated her, Xander hated her, and she lay dying before both of them.  All they had to do was wait, tell Anya and Giles there was nothing they could have done to save her, and that would have been the end.  

            But it wasn't the end.

            Faith sighed and pushed off the bed.  She crossed the bedroom, stopping before the vanity, and stared into the mirror, at the silver white scar stretching across her neck.  Her fingers shook as she lightly traced the length of hardened skin.  Her eyes were wide, her skin was pale, her hair a tangled mess around her face.  Faith froze at the sight of herself in the mirror before reaching for the wood jewelry box on the vanity and hurling it at the glass.  Her reflection shattered into a thousand pieces, tumbled across the dressing table, and fell to the floor.

            "Did that make you feel better?"

            Willow.  Fuck.  Faith moved away from the broken mirror, maneuvering around the shards of glass, and walked to the window, peering through the slats at the moonlit backyard of the Summers' house.  "Get out."

            "Why?  So you can destroy more of Joyce's furniture?  I don't think-"

            "I don't give a rat's ass what you think.  Get out before I get really mad."

            "I'm not afraid of you."

            Faith cocked an eyebrow and turned from the window.  Willow stood next to the door, her arms folded across her chest, face impassive, bright green eyes locked onto Faith.  "Why?  Cause you got a few tricks up your sleeve?  Can plug right into the black magic mojo and skin me alive if I get a little frisky?"

            A shadow of a smile crossed Willow's face.  "Something like that."

            "Something like that?  Or something like what you did to B?" She smirked as she walked towards Willow.  "Kicked her ass all across Sunnydale.  Feel like taking on the other Slayer?"

            "I didn't come here to fight you, Faith."

            "No?  Then get the hell out."  She returned to the bed and sat down upon the tangled sheets, her back to Willow, her head bent towards the floor.  Faith drew a hand through her tangled hair as she stared at her bare feet, all the while feeling Willow's eyes steady upon her, boring twin holes into her back.  Jumping to her feet, she whirled and stalked over to Willow.  "Is there some reason you're still here?  Are you waiting for a thank you?  I didn't ask you to save my life.  You did that all on your own."

            Willow raised one eyebrow.  "Yeah, I did.  Would you have rather died?"

            "Or maybe you want something else?  Some sort of… reward for your troubles?"  She licked her lips and dragged her dark eyes across Willow.  "I don't usually swing that way, but I know it's what gets you off."

            "I didn't save you because I wanted something in return."

            "Oh yes.  Saint Willow.  Treading on the dark side not satisfying enough for you?  Returning to your holier than thou, innocent do gooder routine?"

            "Pretty much."  Willow shrugged and walked around Faith, crouching near the vanity and picking chunks of glass off the floor.  "There's nothing in the dark but pain and misery and an empty ache inside you where your soul should be.  You've got the world at your mercy, the power of life or death in your hands, but that's it.  And that's nothing."  Dumping a handful of broken glass into the trash can, Willow turned back towards Faith.  "You know this.  That's why you came back to Sunnydale.  To get something other than nothing."

            "Do you have a point somewhere in all this?  Or are you just trying to bore me to death?"

            Willow sighed.  "You wanted to know why I helped you.  You're trying to do good, and I wasn't going to let some second rate psycho take that away.  That's all."  She paused.  "That and Anya would have turned me into a toad if I hadn't helped you.  And frogs are just icky."

            A few moments passed.  Faith peered at Willow, dark eyes locked on green, her quiet words floating through Faith's mind, and she slowly nodded.  Willow shook her head in return and made her way to the door.  As Willow crossed the threshold, Faith said, "This doesn't mean we're friends now."

            Willow glanced over her shoulder at Faith, a wide grin appearing on her face.  "Oh god no.  I still hate your guts as much as I ever have."  

            One corner of Faith's mouth curved into a smile.  "Good."

            "Good.  Scooby meeting in ten."  Willow entered the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.

            Drawing in a deep breath, Faith rubbed her hands across her face and brushed her wild hair out of her eyes.  She turned to the vanity and began picking up the remaining shards of glass, tossing them into the trash; she retrieved the dented and scratched jewelry box and set it on the dressing table, replacing the scattered rings, necklaces, and bracelets into the velvet lined cavity.

*                      *                      *

            "So?"

            "Hold on a minute.  I'm still recovering from all the _Purple Haze_ in my brain."

            Spike sighed and continued pacing the lobby of the Hyperion.  Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched Lorne sit down on the circular sofa.  The green skinned demon stretched the muscles in his neck and shoulders as he turned towards Spike.

            "And may I just say that you have much better taste in music than Angel.  I'm still scarred for life from his rendition of _Mandy_."  Lorne shuddered.  "That's something I could have gone a few lifetimes without experiencing.  Anyway, when I read Angel during that particular horrendous karaoke disaster, I was reading two different entities.  The demon and the soul.  Granted the soul is dominant within Angel, but the demon is still there, lurking beneath the tasty surface, just waiting for the soul to go bye-bye so Angelus can come out and play."

            "And me?"

            "And you… there was only one entity.  Soul and demon combined together into one spiritual substance I've never seen before.  Do you remember what happened when you got your soul back?"

            "Pain.  Lots of pain. Felt like I had been hit by a truck a few dozen times."

            Lorne nodded.  "Makes sense.  Your soul is bonded to your demon, and it probably altered you physically, changing your body so holy water has no effect, you have a reflection-"

            "A blurred reflection."

            "A blurred reflection but still a reflection which is more than all of the rest of the evil dead can say.  And I doubt crosses would be a problem for you anymore.  Basically, all of the things that would harm a _soulless vampire are no longer an issue for you."_

            "What about sunlight?"

            Shrugging, Lorne said, "I'm not sure.  You're still a vampire, albeit a new and excitingly different one, but my best guess is that sunlight and stakes and fire will kill you just as good as they could have pre-soul." 

            "So basically I'm an un-unholy vampire?"

            "Yep."

            "Wonderful.  Just call me Saint Spike."  He should have known something unexpected would happen.  His plans never went how he wanted them to go.  Why should he have expected the 'Get-Spike-A-Soul' mission to be any different?  Not that this turn of events was unwelcome.  As long as these were the only events that had turned and no other changes had been performed by Lurky the Wonder Demon.  Sighing again, Spike plopped onto the circular sofa next to Lorne.  He groaned, a grimace of pain shooting across his face, as his still tender insides collided with the couch. 

            "You should probably get back to bed."

            "Yeah.  Probably should.  I'd rather not be carried back by Buffy.  That would be bloody embarrassing."  Spike paused as he ran his fingers through his hair.  Turning his head, he looked at Lorne and said, "Although you'd think she'd lay off a bit.  I'm not going to dust if I walk around the hotel.  Been around a century and a half.  It'll take more than one sodding wood bullet to turn me into a big pile of dust."

            Lorne shrugged.  "Rationality goes to the wayside when love is involved."

            Spike nodded and pushed off the sofa.  Rationality takes a flying leap out of reality when love is involved, leading to hysterical, frantic pursuits of one's soul.  Halfway to the stairs leading to the second level of the Hyperion, he froze.  Spike blinked once and turned back towards Lorne.  "Buffy… Love?"

            "Mmm-hmm.  Although getting shot through the chest really isn't necessary for fuzzy feelings to emerge.  With cheekbones like yours, you can't fault the girl for falling in love."  The smile faded off Lorne's face as he looked at Spike.  He stood and walked towards the stairs, his eyes widening as he drew closer to the shell shocked vampire.  "Oh no.  You didn't know."

            Mute, Spike shook his head as he collapsed upon the stairs.  

            "I'm sorry.  I didn't know you didn't know.  The way you two were around each other I just assumed…"

            That was that look.  On her face.  The one Spike had never seen before.  It was love.  The constant hovering, checking to make sure he's Ok; her wearing his shirt and being embarrassed about it, all flustered and flushed; the look in her eyes when she told him not to almost die again.  It was love.

            Oh god.

*                      *                      *

            "Can we talk?"

            Looking up from the book in his lap, Giles glanced at Anya.  "Is something the matter?  Is Faith-"

            "No and fine.  Willow's getting her for the meeting.  It's about me."  Anya looked around the living room, her golden brown eyes darting over the new and old members of the Scooby Gang.  A faint frown pulled at her features.  "Could we go outside?"

            "Yes."  Giles stood, closing the volume held in his hands and placing it on the coffee table, and followed Anya through the Summers' house, into the kitchen and out onto the back porch.  He eased the door shut behind him and turned towards Anya.  "Now-"

            "Here."  

            Giles blinked as her hand shot out towards him.  Taking a step back, he looked at the object dangling from her fingers.  "Is that…?"

            Anya nodded.  She twisted her wrist and cupped the silver chain and ancient charm in the palm of her hand.  Staring down at the necklace, she said, "My necklace.  The source of my powers as a vengeance demon."  The jewelry gleamed in the moonlight.  She glanced up at Giles, her eyes hidden in shadow, as she said, "I want you to destroy it."

            "What?  Anya…"  He took a step towards her, but she backed away from him, turning and staring up at the night sky.

            "I can't do it, Rupert," she said quietly.  "I haven't even tried.  I've been a vengeance demon for months now and I haven't granted one wish.  Haven't sought out one woman seeking vengeance.  I haven't even thought about seeking out one woman seeking vengeance."

            "Have you thought about this decision?  I doubt D'Hoffryn would elevate you again if you destroyed your necklace.  You would be human, without the strength a-and powers associated with being a vengeance demon, forever."

            "I know.  And don't think I'm not going to miss teleportation because it is so much easier than walking or running or public transportation."  She paused, tilting her head and looking at Giles over her shoulder.  "But the price is too high.  I stay a vengeance demon eventually the time will come for me to grant some woman's wish.  And the man she wishes against will probably deserve it.  But I can't be the one to give it to him.  I won't be the one to give it to him.  That's not who I am anymore.  I have a life here in Sunnydale." 

            "Yes, you do."  Giles stepped next to Anya.  She held out the necklace to him again, and he took it, grasping the chain and pendant lightly in his hand.  "If I may ask, why me?"

            Anya shrugged, a half grin curving her lips.  "I don't know.  Irony.  Fate.  You were the one who destroyed my first necklace.  Well, not really you.  The other alternate universe you.  So you in the trans-dimensional sense.  But if it wasn't for that other you, I wouldn't be here, living the life I'm living now."  She paused.  "And I can't smash it myself."

            A small smile appeared on his face.  He placed the necklace onto the porch railing.  The green stone in the pendant glittered from within, the power contained within the tiny gem barely restrained by the delicate silver casing.  Giles stepped off the porch and grabbed a large rock from the backyard.  Returning to the necklace, he looked at Anya and said, "Are you certain this is what you want?"

            "Yes."

            He nodded once and lifted the stone high into the air, bringing to down upon the necklace on the railing.  The charm crumbled beneath the rock, and Giles' arm shook from the power emission that vibrated through the stone and out into the night.  He heard Anya sigh as he tossed the rock over the railing and watched the silver necklace dissolve and fade into nothing.  

            "Thank you," Anya said as she moved towards him and leaned into him, kissing him beneath the pale light of the moon.  Her lips were soft on his, and delicate, pressing lightly against his mouth.  She pulled back, her golden eyes seeking out his grey.  "Thank you for saving my life."  

            "I didn't-"

            "Yes, you did.  And 'you're welcome' is a suitable response to my declaration."

            Giles smiled again.  "You're welcome."  

*                      *                      *


	30. Warning Sign

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics designate the taped conversation.  Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.  I appreciate all of the feedback!  

Chapter Thirty: Warning Sign

By: Wynn

            "Hi!  I'm Buffy.  And you're the evil bitch that's trying to kill me."

            As far as introductions go, Buffy thought that was one of her best.  It wasn't the cleverest quip ever, but it was succinct and straightforward, laying her feelings about Lilah Morgan out in the open so she could cut through the evasive bullshit the lawyer would probably try to pull about her part in the recent assassination attempts on Buffy and her friends.

            A slow smirk pulled at Lilah's lips as she leaned against the doorjamb and stared at Buffy, Cordelia, and Fred.  She was barefoot, dressed in a slim knee length skirt, the top buttons of her silk blouse undone.  A crystal wineglass was clasped loosely in her hand, half filled with burgundy liquid.  "I am," she said.  "Figured that out by yourself did you?  Good for you.  I suppose what they say about blondes and natural idiocy doesn't apply to you then."  Lilah paused, her dark eyes flickering towards Buffy's hair.  "Of course, you're not a natural blonde, so that might be why."

            "And that, ladies, is the sparkling wit of Lilah Morgan," Cordelia said as pushed her way into Lilah's apartment.  "One lame ass comment about Buffy's obvious dye job.  Seems like someone's slipping a bit."

            Ignoring Cordelia, Lilah turned from the door, leaving it open for Buffy and Fred to enter the apartment.  "As much as I loathe your company, I'm afraid this little gathering must be quick.  I have a prior engagement."

            Buffy followed Fred into the apartment and closed the door behind her.  The flat was sparsely furnished, containing a small kitchenette that expanded into a living room with a supple brown leather sofa, gleaming black coffee table, and beaded gold floor lamp.  Two closed doors lined one wall, presumably leading to the bath and bedrooms.  "And would this engagement have anything to do with, oh, I don't know, my ex-Watcher?"

            Lilah grinned as she sat down upon the leather couch.  "Wouldn't you like to know?"

            "Actually, I wouldn't.  The thought of you and Wesley having sex is too disturbing for words.  But there is something else you can tell me."

            "Really now."  Taking a sip of wine, Lilah watched Buffy stalk across the room over the rim of her crystal goblet.  "And what exactly would that be?"

            "I think you already know, but I'll tell you anyway since you seem to be a little slow on the uptake today."  Buffy circled around the sofa, trailing her fingers across the beaded lampshade.  She stopped behind Lilah and placed her arms on the couch, leaning close to the brunette.  "I want to know why you're trying to kill me."

            "And I want to know the secret to eternal life, so I guess we're both out of luck."  Lilah sighed as she placed her wineglass on the coffee table.  "Did you really expect I would tell you all of my evil plans if you asked really nicely?  Because, generally, evil plans work better if the 'good guys' don't know about them."

            Cordelia snorted.  "If you were worried about us not knowing about your foray into Slayer slaying you should've been a tad more discreet."

            "You think I give a damn whether or not you twits know I'm trying to kill you?"

            "I think you should," Buffy said as she sat on the sofa next to Lilah.  "Because you've pissed me off, and it's never a good thing to piss off a Slayer.  But you should know all of this from your dealings with Faith.  She's… intimidating when she's angry."

            Cordelia shook her head.  "More unbalanced and psychotic when she's angry."

            "And more than a little bit scary," Fred added as she wandered around the apartment.

            Buffy nodded.  "True.  Which makes Faith impulsive and unpredictable but not really dangerous because it's inevitable she'll screw up whatever she's planning."  Locking eyes with Lilah, Buffy continued, "However, I'm neither unbalanced nor psychotic, so if I were you I'd be very concerned that I know you're trying to kill me."

            Lilah stared at Buffy for a moment before she burst out laughing.  "Is this supposed to be intimidating?  I've chewed up and spit out people a hell of a lot more intimidating than you before breakfast."

            "And I've fought and killed demons a hell of a lot more dangerous than you without breaking a sweat.  You're just a woman who's decided to interfere with my life, my friends, and my town.  You're nothing but an insignificant nuisance.  A little fly buzzing about my head."

            "You think you know what's after you?  Plans have been made, the trap has been set, and there's nothing you can do to avoid it.  You're out of your league, little girl."

            "Apparently you and whoever the hell else you're working with have no clue what league I'm in.  Those thorn demons you sent?  Liquefied in less than five minutes.  And the assassins?  The one that wasn't killed or captured voluntarily told us about your involvement.  And the ambush at the law firm?  Pathetic."  Buffy leaned close to Lilah, her hazel eyes flickering with fury.  "You had three chances to kill me and you failed every time, so why should I be afraid of whatever else you have planned?"

            "Maybe because we wanted to fail."  Off of Buffy's silence, Lilah smiled and lifted her wineglass, draining the liquid contents in one gulp.  Standing, she said, "Now amusing as this has been, I'm afraid you have to leave now.  Unless, of course, you want to continue humiliating yourself with your less than intimidating interrogation techniques."  Lilah walked to the apartment door and pulled it open; she stood off to the side and stared back at Buffy, Fred, and Cordelia.  

            Cordelia looked at Lilah for a moment before she turned towards Fred.  "I think she wants us to go."

            Fred nodded.  "Yeah.  And sooner rather than later."

            "That's not very hospitable, Lilah."  Shaking her head, Cordelia walked towards the sofa and plopped down onto it next to Buffy, propping her boot clad feet onto the black coffee table.  

            Fred joined Cordelia and Buffy on the couch as she said, "I guess they don't teach manners in evil lawyer school."

            Lilah arched an eyebrow and glanced at the three women occupying her sofa.  Sighing, she closed the door again and walked into the kitchen.  Placing the empty wineglass on the countertop, she reached for her briefcase and pulled out her cell phone, flipping it open as she said, "If you Girl Scout rejects don't leave now, I'll have to call security to throw you out."

            Frowning slightly, Buffy said, "Calling the cops?  How cliché."

            "They're not cops.  They're Wolfram and Hart security.  They'll throw you out and… dispose of you properly.  No fuss no muss."

            "I don't think you want to do that, Lilah," Cordelia said.

            "I think I do."

            "I think you don't."  Buffy arched off the couch and pulled a folded document out of the back pocket of her black pants.  Unfolding the paper, she smoothed the creases and examined the photograph of Lilah and the building on Mullholland Drive in Sunnydale.  Pushing off the sofa, Buffy walked over to the tiny kitchenette and tossed the picture onto the countertop.  

            Dark eyes quickly assessing the photograph, Lilah said, "Nice picture."

            "It is.  And guess where we found it?  On your desk in Wolfram and Hart."

            Lilah's surprise was nearly imperceptible, a slight widening of her eyes, muscles clenching around the cell phone clutched in her hand, shallow intake of breath, which was covered in less than a second with casual indifference.  It would have gone unnoticed had Buffy not been looking for those subtle reactions to the picture and the revelation about its discovery.  Smirking, Buffy leaned across the countertop, snatching the phone from Lilah's grasp and crushing it in her hand, dropping the electronic dust onto the floor.

            "I doubt you would leave pictures of yourself in Sunnydale lying out in the open unprotected.  So someone must have left them there for you to find.  Or they left them for me to find.  Either way it seems someone's trying to send you a message."  Buffy shrugged as she backed away from the countertop.  "So now the question is, Lilah, do you want to go against me and mine along with whoever else you've pissed off lately, or do you want to be a nice evil lawyer and stop trying to kill me?"

            Mouth set and eyes hard, Lilah moved towards the front door and opened it again.  "What I want is for you three to get out."

            "All you had to do was ask nicely," Fred said with a smile as she slid off the couch.    

            Cordelia nodded.  "No need to go UberBitch on us."

            As Fred and Cordelia made their way out of the apartment, Buffy stopped before Lilah, a broad grin curving her lips.  "See what can be accomplished with clear communication.  I talk, you listen, and you stop trying to kill me."

            Lilah was silent for a few seconds before she said, "Ever wonder why Faith was let out of prison?"

            "Good behavior."

            Lilah arched one eyebrow.  "Spare me.  She's a psychotic murderer with superhuman strength and reflexes.  There is no way she would be released on her own recognizance for 'good behavior.'  Not after what she's done.  And not without some sort of purpose… some sort of agenda behind her release.  Even then it would take a powerful entity to pull the necessary strings to orchestrate her release.  A powerful entity like…"

            "Wolfram and Hart," Buffy finished, her stomach heavy with the knowledge that Lilah had arranged Faith's release from prison and subsequent return to Sunnydale, her mind running with the possible consequences of this new twist on events.  

            "Very good."

            Shaking her head softly, Buffy said, "It doesn't matter why Faith was sent to Sunnydale.  Or who sent her.  She works with us now."

            "Is that a fact?  You tried to kill her.  Put her in a coma for months.  She hates you."

            "She's changed.  Wants to do good now."

            "Good and evil are a matter of perspective.  What's considered evil for one person is good for another.  And what's good for someone else may be very, very bad for you."

            Buffy shook her head again as she stepped into the hallway.  Turning back to Lilah, she said, "You're saying this to stir up trouble, to make me suspect Faith.  It's not going to work."

            "Maybe not," Lilah said as she grasped the door knob.  "But I bet the next time you see Faith you'll look at her and wonder whose side she's really on.  Night, ladies."  Stepping back, Lilah slammed the door shut, the echo of impact reverberating throughout the narrow hall.

*                      *                      *

            It was an odd bunch by normal standards, but the town of Sunnydale and its citizens had never existed according to the norms of the rest of the world, which is why the eight gathered for the meeting in the Summers' living room were not fazed by the eclectic mesh of humans and demons.  Faith, Anya, and Dawn resided on the sofa while Giles paced before the fireplace.  Emilia was curled up in the armchair and next to her sat Clem.  On chairs brought in from the dining room were Willow and Xander.  

            "Now that everyone is present," Giles said as he faced the expanded Scooby Gang, "we can commence with the meeting."  Moving to the coffee table, Giles lifted the slim tape recorder and examined it in his hands.  "For those who do not know, Anya and Xander discovered this in Tyler's office two nights ago.  They've only listened to a brief portion, but that segment dealt with one of the cameras that were used to spy on Buffy and Faith.  So far only two cameras have been discovered, one at Tyler's place of business and one at the Magic Box.  Scans of the Summers' home, as well as Anya's apartment, reveal no further recording devices."

            "Xander and I didn't find any more videotapes," Anya said.  "Whatever the little maggot recorded of Buffy and Faith he probably turned over to the psycho's in charge."

            "Who's on the tape?" Dawn asked.

            "I don't know," Giles said.  "It seems it was, um, forgotten in the chaos of the last few days.  I have not listened to it yet.  I thought it would expedite matters if everyone listened to it at the same time."

            Giles placed the recorder back on the coffee table in the center of the living room, turned the volume dial to maximum, and pressed the play button.  A burst of static emanated from the tiny speaker before a gravelly male voice spoke.

            "_Are you sure this thing will get past the detectors?"_

            "Tyler," Anya said, glancing at Faith from the corners of her eyes.  A brief shudder passed through Faith as her fingers drifted over the thin scar marring her throat.  

            "_It should.  The magicks surrounding it should make it undetectable to all electronic and magical devices."_

            "Lilah," Faith said.  "Bitch."

            "_Spying on your bosses, Lilah?  Quite the risk taker, aren't you?"_

_            "First, they are not my bosses.  This is a mutually beneficial arrangement among all parties in which all members of this circle will profit equally."_

_            "Then why the tape?"_

_            "Insurance.  Just because I said everyone would profit equally doesn't mean people won't try to increase their take.  By any means necessary."_

A door opened and then closed.  A brief, low pitched hum drifted from the recorder followed by the sounds of metal chairs scraping across a tiled floor.  A few moments passed before Tyler's voice pierced the silence.   

            "_Well, isn't this a cheery bunch." _

            "_The purpose of this meeting isn't to entertain you, sir."  A male voice.  Smug, superior, snobbish, with a British accent.  "__If that is what you wish, I'm confidant you can find your way to the door."_

            "Who is that?" Emilia asked.

            "I don't know," Giles said. 

            "_Tyler is well aware of the seriousness of this meeting, Samuel," Lilah said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.  "_Aren't you, Tyler_?"_

            "_Perfectly aware.  Now what seems to be your problem and why do you need me?"_

Samuel spoke again.  "_We want you to pose as the owner of a dojo in a town called Sunnydale.  Have you heard of Sunnydale before_?"

            "_Yeah.  The Hellmouth.  What's with the undercover?"_

            "_We want you to gather intel about this young woman."  There was a soft scratch of paper being passed across a table before Samuel continued.  "_Her name is Buffy Summers.  She is the Slayer.  Do-_"_

            "_I know what the Slayer is, Jeeves.  Damn… she is fine.  Will this be an up close and personal undercover assignment 'cause, if it is, sign me right up."_

            Dawn grimaced at the leer in Tyler's voice.  "Eww.  Perv."

            "_Lilah said you were a professional, Tyler.  If you can't keep your libido in check and carry out our instructions, I trust you-"_

            "_Yeah, yeah.  'Find my way to the door.'  No harm in asking, is there?  So, what do you want me to do besides gather intel?  Kill her?  Torture her?"_

            "_No," Samuel said.  "_We only want you to record her on videotape.  In a few months, once your business is established, we will arrange for Ms. Summers to be fired from her current place of employment and come across an advertisement for your dojo.  You will hire her, record her while she is fighting, report to us anything she says concerning her personal life, any visitors she has at the dojo, and you will give us the videotaped footage every night, right here at this house._"_

            "_What kind of equipment do you want me to use?  Infrared… standard surveillance cameras?"_

            "_Lilah, would you retrieve the device __Tyler__ will use?"_

            "_Sure."_

            The metallic screech of chair on floor sounded once more, quickly followed by the sounds of a door opening and closing.  "_I assume this means you're taking the job," Samuel said._

            "_If the price is right."_

            "_I assure you, __Tyler__.  You will not be disappointed."_

            "_Here's your camera," Lilah said as the door opened again.  "__Try to mount it someplace high, preferably near the ceiling.  Do you have any questions?"_

            "_No.  This chick must have done something real bad to piss you guys off.  What did she do?  Beat you in the beauty pageant?"_

            A new voice spoke.  Male, British, arrogant and cultured.  "_What she did is not your concern."_

            "Oh my god," Faith said, dark eyes widening at the man's voice.

            Willow's brows drew together.  "Is that…"

            The man continued.  "_Just do what we told you and bring us any useful footage.  We don't like to be kept waiting, __Tyler__, so I advise you install the camera as soon as possible."_

            "I know I've heard that voice before," Xander said.

            "Yes, you have" Giles murmured.  "It's Wesley."

*                                  *                                  *

            Lilah refilled her wineglass and crossed the kitchenette to her bedroom.  Opening the door, she let her eyes readjust to the soft candlelight and focus on the man casually perched on her bed, his button up shirt open and rumpled, his feet bare, his blue eyes glinting in the warm glow of the candles.  

            "Are they gone?" Wesley asked.

            "Yes."

            "Do they know anything?"

            "Not really."  She walked over to the bed and placed her wineglass on the nightstand.  "Enough shop talk.  Now where were we?"

            "Right about here," he said as threaded his fingers through her auburn hair and drew her in for a kiss.

*                      *                      *


	31. Facing Your Fears

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics designate flashback (for a refresher on the history of Giles and Emilia see Chapters 23 and 24.)  Quote used from _Psycho and _Intervention_.  Many thanks to SpikeLover7, for continuing to beta this massive fic, and many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.  ___

Chapter Thirty-One: Facing Your Fears

By: Wynn

            Her nerves were frayed, her temper was short, and a scowl curved her lips.  Buffy plowed through the doors to the Hyperion, causing the heavy wood slabs to bang against the wall and rattle in their hinges.  Stalking into the lobby, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares from Angel, Gunn, Lorne, and Connor, frustration coursing through her veins, Buffy kicked the circular sofa in the center of the foyer, sending it slamming against the far wall.  

            Angel edged away from the lobby desk and cautiously approached Buffy, his dark eyes darting to the open front doors where Cordelia and Fred inched into the hotel.  He arched an eyebrow at the two women, who shook their heads.  Sighing, Angel stepped towards Buffy and said, "Buffy-"

            Buffy abruptly stopped pacing and whirled on Angel.  "Why did Faith come here first and not go directly to Sunnydale?"

            "What?"

            "Did she leave the hotel any?  Have any clandestine meetings with aggravating bitch lawyers from hell?"

            Angel blinked a few times before he spoke again.  "Did Lilah say something about Faith?"

            "She said something alright."  Buffy drew in a deep breath and drug her hands through her hair.  She closed her eyes for a moment, Lilah's words about the circumstances surrounding Faith's release from prison spinning in her head.  Was it all an act, the training with Giles, dedication to patrolling, becoming friends with Anya?  Was it a way for Faith to worm her way back into life in Sunnydale so she could kill everyone, fulfill whatever agenda was behind her release?  Could Faith be that cunning and ruthless?  Opening her eyes, Buffy looked at Angel and said, "Do you trust her?"

            "Faith?"

            Buffy nodded.

            "Yes.  Whatever Lilah told you was said so you would react like this and storm off after Faith, looking for blood."

            "I know.  I know."  Her shoulders slumped as the sparks of anger faded from her hazel eyes.  Buffy glanced around the hotel's lobby and grimaced.  One of the front doors hung crooked in its hinges and the sofa had smashed a sizable dent in the wall.  Lorne, Gunn, and Connor stared at her, various expressions of shock on their faces, and Cordelia and Fred remained as far away from her as possible.  "I-I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to-"

            "It's alright," Angel said, a small smirk on his face.  "'We all go a little mad sometimes.'"

            "Yeah," Cordelia said as she walked towards the lobby desk.  "But that was beyond 'a little mad.'  Try unbalanced and psychotic."

            "And more than a little bit scary," Fred said, stepping close to Gunn and wrapping her arms around him.  

            A sheepish smile crossed Buffy's face.  "Sorry guys."

            Cordelia said, "No big.  At least you're not sulking like Angel would be."

            "Hey!"

            "Sorry.  I meant pouting."

            Angel turned towards Cordelia, a mock frown pulling at his brow.  "Cordelia."

            "Moping."

            "You're not funny."

            A wide grin appeared on her face.  "I know.  I'm hilarious.  And I think the word I'm looking for is brooding."

            Ignoring the bantering of Angel and Cordelia, Buffy looked around the lobby, gnawing gently on her bottom lip.  "Where's Spike?" she asked, her brows rising as the four men in the Hyperion's lobby froze at her question.  "What?  Did he really stay in his room?  I thought he would have been up and about as soon as I left."  Her gaze shifted from Angel to Lorne and back again, eyes narrowing as Lorne looked at Angel and tilted his head towards Buffy, carefully avoiding her gaze.  Slivers of panic began to wind through Buffy at their continued silence.  "What happened?  Is he Ok?  Angel, where is he?"

            Turning towards her, Angel said, "He's on the roof.  Buffy-"

            Buffy bolted up the stairs, her heart hammering in her chest, and she sprinted down the hall towards the stair access to the roof, tendrils of cold sweat sliding along her spine.  Why was he on the roof?  Why was he alone?  Had something happened?  She kicked open the door and scrambled onto the roof, the cool rush of night air pricking her skin.  Her gaze skittered around the rooftop searching for Spike among the shadows cast by the twinkling stars in the sky.

            "Spike!  Spi-"  She saw him sitting on the edge of the roof, his back towards her, head tilted up towards the sky.  She started across the rooftop, relief spreading through her at the sight of him.  "Spike?  Hey, what're you doing up here all by yourself?"  She stopped behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, starting as he slid from under her touch and eased off the stone ledge.  Buffy watched him take a few steps away from her.  "Spike?  What's wrong?"

            He ducked his head, drawing his fingers through his hair.  The bleached tips shone under the moon and starlight.  He half turned toward her, his face hidden in shadow, as he murmured, "You love me."

            Buffy blinked, her mind struggling to understand what he had said.  "What… how…"  She trailed off, heart rate accelerating and palms growing damp; she shouldn't have been surprised that he knew how she felt about him.  Her emotions were always an open book to him, laid bare no matter how hard she struggled to hide them.  She could deny his intuition as she always had in the past and do her best to distract him and herself from the truth that they both now knew.  But before the protestations finished forming in her mind, she said, "Yes."

            "You shouldn't."

            "I know."  Buffy moved towards Spike, her steps slow and steady.  "You're a vampire.  I'm the Slayer.  I know the rules, but I don't care.  They're not mine and they're not yours, and I don't want to live by them."  

            "It's not that."

            Buffy stopped before him and reached for his hand.  He moved his hand away, and she felt fire flicker in her, sparking her anger into a blinding blaze.  "So what is it then, Spike?" she asked, her voice low and tight with the tension that seeped into her muscles.  "Why shouldn't I love you?  If it's not because you're a vampire, then why-"

            "You know why!"  His head snapped towards her, eyes glittering with fury.  Spike held her gaze for a second before he sighed, the fire dwindling from his azure eyes, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his tired protestations.  "I… I don't…"

            "What?  You don't deserve my love?"

            "I don't."

            "Oh.  So you deserve my friendship but not my love.  Interesting distinction.  Or was the discussion we had in the car a lie?  Were you just placating me with talk of us being friends, of you deserving my friendship, until the day you could up and walk out of my life because it's what's in my **best interest?"**

            Shaking his head, Spike took a step towards her.  "No.  I wasn't placating you or lying to you.  I wouldn't do that.  I've never done that.  Not with you."

            "So it's alright for me to be your friend as long as there're no feelings involved?"

            "No… yes… "  He growled in frustration and moved away from her, stalking back towards the roof's edge.  

            She followed him across the rooftop.  "I thought we had moved past this," she said softly.  "Forgiven each other about the past.  Decided to move on to the future."

            "It's not that simple."

            "It never is."  She stared at him for a few moments, taking in his white knuckled grip on the brick ledge and the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders, before she said, "You're scared."

            He spun towards her, mouth hanging open in shock.  "Excuse me?"

            "You heard me.  You're scared.  Scared that I love you.  Scared of what might happen now."

            "I'm not scared."

            "Yes, you are."

            "Well, maybe I am!  Maybe I have a reason to be!  The last time I tried to love you I almost… I nearly…"

            "Say it."

            "I tried to rape you!  I threw you down on the ground and… and…"  Spike broke off, a sob choking him, constricting his throat around the sins of the past.  He bowed his head, tears pooling in his eyes, a few spilling across his dusky lashes and gliding down his cheeks.  "I can't hurt you again, Buffy.  I can't."

            She reached for him and cupped his face.  Turning his head towards her, her thumb stroked his cheek, smearing the tears staining his face.  "You won't," she whispered.  "You won't.  You've changed.  **I've** changed."

            "I haven't changed so much that the demon isn't still inside me, Buffy," Spike said as he moved around her to pace the length of the rooftop.  "You love me, you love the demon.  I'm not like bloody Angel, pet.  You can't love the soul and hate the demon because they're one and the same in me.  All twisted together in some sodding permanent entity."

            "Yeah, and unlike Angel your demon isn't a twisted bastard bent on torturing and killing me.  Your demon tracked down and fought for your soul because you hurt me.  Your demon kept its promise to a dead woman and protected her sister for an entire summer when it could have blown town and never looked back.  Your demon did more good last year that three humans with souls, so don't even try to play the demon card."

            Sighing, Spike faced her again and said, "Buffy-"

            Buffy felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the ground.  "I'm not going to force you to love me or be with me just to make me happy.  I don't want that.  But just because I love you doesn't mean we have to go back to the way things were between us last year.  That's not how love is.  You know this.  You tried to show me last year but I wouldn't let you.  I couldn't let you.  But if you don't want to be with me, or if you can't for whatever reason, then that's Ok.  I just… I want… Just don't shut me out of your life.  Please.  Just don't leave-"

            His fingertips caressed her lips, heat emanating through her from where his cool touch rested against her skin.  He shook his head slightly as he tilted her head up and leaned into her.  His lips replaced his fingertips and brushed against hers, lightly, feather soft, requesting instead of demanding, asking instead of claiming, and it sent shivers shooting across her skin.  Buffy moved into him and deepened the kiss, tasting the tears that clung to his lips, feeling the tremors coursing through him, giving instead of taking, pouring her love, her desire, herself into him and into the embrace.  She wound her arms around his neck, fingers curling into the soft strands of his hair, as he placed his palms on her waist, hands sliding against the silk of her shirt.  Spike drew back from the kiss and laid his forehead against hers.  "How could I leave?  I love you, you bloody stubborn beautiful woman.  I love you."

            Buffy laughed, a wide grin stretching across her face.  She looked into his eyes and saw shame, guilt, and sorrow mingled with love, passion, and hope in his cerulean gaze, and she knew her future lie within those blue orbs if she could say the words she felt, open her heart fully, completely, irrevocably, and risk the pain.  _Love, give, forgive.  Buffy drew in a deep, calming breath and opened her mouth and said, "I love you."_

            She felt Spike tense as she heard the soft scrape of shoe against rooftop.  Turning in his embrace, Buffy saw Cordelia standing in the broken doorway, a grim expression on her face.  "Sorry to interrupt," she said.  "But Giles is on the phone and he needs to talk to you, Buffy.  And, Spike, you better get down here and stop Angel from committing Murder One.  Now."

*                      *                      *

_            Two days had passed since Giles had fled Emilia's apartment, terrified of the past, of himself, and of the kind woman who tried to help him.  He slowly approached her door, the clothes she had given him to wear in place of his soiled, alcohol drenched ones grasped in a small bundle in his hands.  They were clean and folded.  He may have renamed himself Ripper and delved into the darkest of the dark magicks, but he still remembered the manners instilled in him by his mother.  Giles considered placing the clothes on the doorstep and leaving without having to face Emilia, but the door to her flat opened and she stepped into the sunshine, her multicolored streaked hair shining in the late afternoon rays.    _

_            She smiled at him and said, "Hello, Rupert.  Feel better?"_

_            "Um, yes, thank you.  The, uh, herbs in your tea helped with the inevitable hangover."  He shifted under her steady violet gaze and held the bundle of clothes out to her.  "Um, I brought your clothes back.  They're clean."_

_            "Thank you.  Would you like to come in for a drink?"_

_            His stomach churned at the thought of drinking liquor and he grimaced.  "No, I had better not.  I should go."  Giles placed the clothes into her small hands and stepped off the front stoop.  Grey eyes flickering to her lavender, he said, "Thank you, again.  I appreciate all of your help."  He nodded once and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.  Turning, he walked a few steps  away from her before she spoke._

_            "What will you do now?"_

_            "Pardon?"_

_            "You can't go back to the way you were living.  You'll die too.  If not from the magic itself then from drinking away your guilt every night."_

_            "What?  How do you know about magic?"_

_            "Your soul is soaked in it, but it hasn't taken hold of you completely.  You still have a chance."_

_            "Who are you?  How do you know so much about me?"_

_            Emilia stepped back inside her apartment, an unreadable smile upon her face.  "You're a Watcher.  You figure it out.  When you're ready, you know where I live."  She stared at him for a moment longer before closing the door to her flat._

*                      *                      *

            _Giles pounded on Emilia's door, heedless of the fact that it was three in the morning and all was quiet and still in her neighborhood.  He saw a light flicker on in her apartment, and a few moments later her door creaked open and she appeared in the doorway, rumpled from sleep, long hair pulled into a messy bun at the base of her neck._

_            "You're not human," he said._

_            Emilia laughed as she rubbed a hand across her face.  "Hello to you, too.  And what am I, Watcher, if I'm not human?"_

_            "You're an Elf.  And don't call me that.  I'm not a Watcher."_

_            Arching an eyebrow, Emilia said, "Aren't you?"  She stepped away from the door and walked back into her apartment.  "I don't know about you, Rupert, but my brain does not begin to function without a spot of wonderful caffeine laden tea.  Would you like some, or have you decided to stand on my doorstep for the entire night?"_

_            Giles crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.  The rich fragrance of flowers invaded his senses as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen.  Emilia stood beside the stove, her eyes fixed upon the teakettle warming on the burner.  "Why do you keep insisting I am a Watcher?"_

_            "Because that is who you are, even if you have not accepted it yet."_

_            "And you're an expert on who I am, a woman who I met only two days ago while royally pissed in some dank hole in the wall bar?"_

_            The water in the kettle began to boil.  Emilia removed two cups from the cabinet and placed them on the white round table in the corner of her kitchen.  "I'm not an expert.  I just know what I know."_

_            "And you know I'm a Watcher?"_

_            Emilia shook her head as she sat at the table.  "Not yet.  But you will be.  Sooner or later."_

_            "So you can see visions of the future?  I didn't know Elves possessed that ability."_

_            "We don't.  But I don't have to see the future to know your path."_

_            "All you have to see is my soul?  Or can you discern my 'path' from reading my mind?"_

_            Smiling, she said, "A little bit of both.  You can sit down if you want."_

_            Giles crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the archway between the hall and kitchen.  "I'd rather stand."_

_            "Still paranoid?"_

_            "I am not paranoid."_

_            "Scared, then?"  Off of his silence, she continued.  "You have every reason to be scared.  You know what you've done, what you've unleashed upon the world.  You know the path you chose to walk.  It's ugly and deadly.  But it's not permanent.  You can change.  All you have to do is face your fear."_

_            "Easier said than done.  And why should I do what you say?"_

_            "Because it will save your life."_

_            Giles raised one eyebrow at her declaration._

_            "You don't believe me?" Emilia asked.  "Have a seat and let me tell you a little story that might change your mind."_

*                      *                      *

            "How are you?"

            Looking up from the glass of scotch held in his hand, Giles watched Emilia walk into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the linoleum floor.  The Summers' house was relatively quiet considering the amount of people populating the living room, currently occupied by one of Clem's innumerable DVDs.  Something about a woman that was pretty.  After the revelation of Wesley working with Lilah and Tyler, the rest of the cassette tape had gleaned little information, save for the specifics of how the surveillance cameras operated.  

            "I'm… dealing, to quote a phrase from Buffy."  Giles sipped his scotch as Emilia sat across from him at the kitchen counter.  Setting the glass on the countertop, he said, "The Wesley that was on that tape was not the Wesley I knew four years ago.  Cordelia said on the phone that he had changed and that there had been a falling out between him and Angel, but I would never have expected him to plan attacks against Buffy or Dawn or anyone else here in Sunnydale."  Shaking his head slightly, Giles turned the glass in his hands, watching the light glimmer off the liquor and glint off the crystal.  "I don't understand his motivations for attacking us unless this is some way of retaliating against Angel."

            "People's motivations are rarely simple or easily discernable."  Emilia removed the glass from his hands and took a drink of the scotch, closing her eyes as the liquid slid down her throat.  "How did Buffy take the news?"

            "She was shocked and understandably so.  She said Angel reacted rather badly to the news and left the hotel to confront Lilah about Wesley's involvement.  Apparently, Spike is chasing him down now and trying to prevent Angel from doing anything rash."

            "Like killing this Wesley fellow?"

            "Yes."  A wry smirk crossed Giles' lips and he drained the rest of the scotch from his glass.

            "What's so funny?"

            "The thought of Spike preventing anyone from doing anything impulsive, least of all preventing anyone from committing murder."

            Emilia arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.  "He's changed."

            "I know.  Everyone has changed.  Spike used to be a soulless vampire and unrepentant murderer, but now he has a soul and is trying to stop Angel from killing Wesley.  Faith murdered and tortured people, but she's attempting to atone for her crimes and was almost killed for it.  Willow tried to destroy the world but is now learning how to use her power without succumbing to the darkness within her.  Anya was a vengeance demon who has killed and maimed countless men, but she willingly chose to give up that life and live as a human."

            A sad smile appeared on Emilia's face.  "And now Wesley, a former ally, has apparently turned against you."

            Giles stared into his empty glass for a few moments.  He shook his head slowly as he stood and placed the cup into the sink.  "Sometimes it's hard to know who to trust when it seems everyone is capable of evil."

            "Yes," Emilia said.  "It is."

*                      *                      *__


	32. Sunnydale

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: I do not own _One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall_, although it would be cool if I did.  

Chapter Thirty-Two: Sunnydale

By: Wynn

            The candles burned low, shedding a muted golden glow on the wrinkled sheets covering the king sized bed and on the two occupants twisted around each other in the cream colored bedding.  Lilah groaned as she disentangled herself from Wesley, feeling her sore but satisfied muscles twinge in all the right places.  She rolled over and grasped the half filled wine glass sitting on the oak nightstand beside her bed and drank down the remaining claret liquid.  

            "Who do you think left those pictures of you at Wolfram and Hart?"

            "You're not one for quietly basking in the afterglow, are you Wesley?" Lilah asked as she turned back towards him.  His face was cast in shadow, but the candlelight illuminated the thick scar traveling across his neck, stretching from his larynx to just below his ear.  It was the death knell of his high morals and helping the hopeless mantra that Lilah had found amusing and pathetic and irritating, and the beginning of his descent into the morally ambiguous greyness in which she lived and breathed.

            He tilted his head towards her, his face impassive, eyes devoid of any emotion.  "The only glow in the room, Lilah, is the one from the candles."

            "I see your transformation into a soulless bastard is now complete," she said, a wry smirk on her face.

            "Thanks to you."

            Lilah shook her head as she swung her legs off the bed.  "No.  All I did was show you the path.  You willingly decided to walk that way."

            "That I did."  Wesley pushed himself into a sitting position and ran a hand over his mussed hair.  He watched her walk across the darkened bedroom to the closet and pull out a black robe.  As she slipped the cool silk over her body, he said, "Maybe your colleagues at Wolfram and Hart have picked up on your extracurricular activities."

            "I doubt they would be concerned.  I think this is more of an inside job."

            "Retaliation for your arrogant display at our last meeting?"

            A wicked smile appeared on Lilah's face as she conjured up memories of the last meeting of the Inner Circle.  Twenty minutes late for a two minute meeting during which she laughed at the so-called power of the secret group, laughed at the 'man in charge' and his petty concern with his non-existent authority, and laughed as she threatened to expose the Circle to her bosses at Wolfram and Hart before waltzing out of the hall with a spring in her step and a smile on her face.  A little power play to let the group, especially the self-appointed leader, know that she answered to no one and that she was a part of this scheme to take over the Hellmouth because she chose to be, to fulfill her own ambitions and desires instead of the wants and wishes of the other five members composing the Circle.       

            "I wouldn't say it was retaliation," Lilah said, returning to the bed.  "More like an attempt to save face after the last meeting.  He won't do anything serious because he needs me for this plan to work."

            "Just as he knows that you won't expose the Circle to Wolfram and Hart because the second you did so they would swoop down on the Hellmouth, and all of your plans would go up in smoke."

            "True," Lilah said, leaning against the brass headboard of her bed.  Her dark eyes flickered to the open bedroom door as her mind flashed back to the unpleasant arrival of Buffy, Cordelia, and Fred.  "So that was Buffy?  I expected something more… substantial."

            "Don't underestimate her.  She's confronted and defeated more evil during her reign as the Slayer than even you can imagine."

            Arching an eyebrow, Lilah looked at Wesley.  "If you're so confident in her abilities, then why are you working against her?"

            His smile was enigmatic, his eyes shrouded in mystery, and his voice was flat and level, betraying nothing of his inner motivations for plotting against Buffy and company.  "I have my reasons."

            "I'm sure you do, Wesley," Lilah said as the faint chirping of her phone sounded through the tiny apartment.  "I'm sure you do."  She crossed the bedroom, stopping before a slim table beside the door.  She lifted the portable phone from the receiver and pressed the talk button.  "Morgan."

            "Ms. Morgan?  It's Jeffery.  In Sunnydale."

            "Yes?"

            "Mossino didn't check in at the house like he was supposed to yesterday, so I stopped by his place.  It's completely trashed.  The camera's gone and his office was broken into."

            Cradling the phone against her shoulder, Lilah flashed Wesley a small smile and walked out of her bedroom.  "Did you find the tape?"

            "No, ma'am.  The file cabinets had been searched too, and the tape is gone."

            Irritation welled within her as her grip tightened on the phone.  She shouldn't have left the cassette tape with Tyler, but the risk of discovery would have been greater if it had remained in her possession.  "Where is he?  Have you found him yet?"

            "No, ma'am.  He's disappeared.  There was an ambulance call to his place a few nights ago.  The report says a young brunette woman was treated for minor injuries from a mugging.  She was released into the care of Rupert Giles."

            The brunette must have been Faith.  So Tyler was either dead or captured by the Do Gooder Brigade in Sunnydale.  Lilah sighed.  The man always had more balls than brains, so she wasn't surprised he had gotten himself killed or captured by Faith.  "Keep looking for him.  And have someone watch Revello.  I don't want anymore surprises, alright?"

            "Yes, Ms. Morgan."  

            Turning off the phone, Lilah walked over to her couch and sat down upon the supple brown leather.  Had Buffy already listened to the tape and known about Wesley's involvement when she, Fred, and Cordelia traipsed through the apartment?  Maybe the interrogation was a ruse to ascertain whether she and Wesley were here, and Buffy would soon be back with reinforcements to try to capture them.  

            Lilah ran a hand through her thick auburn hair.  The situation in Sunnydale was spinning out of her control.  The incident with Tyler and the tape was unexpected but not disastrous.  It just made things a bit more unpredictable.  The Slayer and her cohorts knew about her involvement in the assassination attempts; they knew the job at Mossino's had been a set up from the beginning; they knew about Wesley's participation in recent events; and they knew about the existence of the house on Mullholland Drive.  Lilah pursed her lips as she pushed off the couch.  Yes, things were about to get very interesting.

            Maybe it was time for her to pay another visit to the Hellmouth.

            She walked back to her bedroom, entering just as Wesley replaced his cell phone in the pocket of his charcoal pants.  He slid his navy shirt on, buttoning the two halves of the shirt together as he said, "A meeting has been called in Sunnydale.  He wants to commence with the next phase of the plan immediately."

            One corner of Lilah's mouth curved up into a smug smirk as she placed the portable phone onto its receiver.  "My thoughts exactly."

*                      *                      *

            "You know if you keep frowning like that your face will be frozen in brood mode forever."

            Silence.

            Suppressing an eye roll, Spike shifted in his seat and stared out the passenger window of the Angel Mobile.  The night drenched expressway zoomed past the speeding automobile in a blur of black asphalt and yellow lines.  Spike, Angel, Gunn, and Connor were in the monstrosity Angel appropriated as his car, halfway to Sunnydale, with Buffy, Cordelia, Fred, and Lorne following in Joyce's SUV.  Spike's blue eyes darted to the side mirror, locking onto the reflected form of the jeep, and once again he wished he was back there with Buffy instead of stuck here next to Peaches.  But after a quick search of Lilah's apartment turned up neither the lawyer bint nor the turncoat ex-Watcher, the decision had been made to return to Sunnydale, and Cordelia, Lorne, and Fred had drug Buffy towards the SUV claiming the need for girl talk.  Which was a tad absurd considering one-fourth of the party was neither girl nor human, but one death glare from Cordelia had quelled Spike's need to comment upon the minute technicalities.

            Leaning back against the headrest, his thoughts drifted to the conversation on the rooftop.  Buffy loved him.  She loved him, and she had told him so.  She said the words he never thought she would ever say to him, ever thought she would feel for him, and he felt like crying from the exquisite joy of hearing those three simple, complex words come out of her luscious mouth.  Despite the mutual declaration of their love for one another, Spike knew the status of his relationship with Buffy was still up in the air.  Were they officially 'together' now?  What did 'together' mean anyway?  Candy, flowers, maybe regular, normal dates that normal, human couples go on?  How would they explain their relationship to Dawn and Rupert and Red and the Whelp?  Would they even tell the others about their relationship, whatever it may be?    

            But instead of sitting next to his love, chatting about the details of their intricately complex relationship, Spike had to sit next to a sullen, cranky, and irritable Master Vampire with a martyrdom complex.       

            "We have forty-five minutes to go, Angelus," Spike said, twisting in his seat to face Angel again, "so you had better stop the cave man routine or I'll be forced to sing _One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall_."

            More silence.

            Spike sighed.  He glanced in the rear view mirror.  Angel's kid was slouched against one side of the back seat, his permanently scowling face focused on some undoubtedly uninteresting thing on the floorboards.  Spike swore the kid only had one facial expression- seriously brassed off.  Gunn lounged on the opposite side of the seat, his arms folded across his chest, giving Angel a run for his money in the 'meditating intensely' department.  The ex-Watcher's involvement in the attacks on Buffy, Faith, and the others had pissed off Angel and Gunn more than it had angered Buffy, and they hadn't even been the ones targeted by this Wesley bloke.  There was too much 'serious thinking' about circumstances beyond their control, which accomplished nothing save to make everyone completely miserable. 

            It was time to break the brood bubble encasing the Angel Mobile.  

            Spike hummed the first few bars of _One Hundred Bottles_ as he glanced at Angel out of the corners of his eyes.  The elder vampire's hands tightened around the steering wheel, so Spike hummed louder.  Angel's eyes narrowed and Spike sang stanzas 98 through 94.  As he closed out the 90s, Spike heard Gunn sigh and shift in his seat, his foot not so delicately digging into the back of Spike's seat.  89, 88, and 87 passed, and Spike swore he could see one of Angel's eyes begin to twitch.  Bottle number 86 came down and was passed around, and Angel exploded.

            "Would you please shut the fuck up, William?!?  You can be so goddamn irritating!  You're like a fucking kid with ADHD hyped up on speed!"

            "You do know that stimulants have a calming effect on kids with ADHD," Spike said quietly.  

            "That's it."  Angel slammed on the brakes and the car slid to a halt in the middle of the interstate.  He patted the pockets of his jacket as he said, "Where's my damn stake?"

            Spike's eyes widened slightly as Gunn passed a stake to Angel.  Swiveling in his seat, he shot a glare at Gunn and said, "Thank you **very** much."

            "Should've stopped at 90 bottles."

            In his peripheral vision, Spike saw Angel raise the stake.  He threw open the passenger door and scrambled out onto the highway as Angel climbed across the front seat and followed him out of the car.  Spike backed away from the car, blue eyes darting from Angel to the SUV, which had come to a stop behind the Angel Mobile.  Angel lunged for Spike again, and Spike darted to the side, kicking the brunette in the chest and sending him crashing against the hood of the car.  The stake fell out of Angel's hand and rolled underneath the car as Buffy and Cordelia approached the dueling duo.    

            "What the hell is going on here?" Buffy asked as she stepped between Spike and Angel.

            "Anger management," Spike said, pulling Buffy out of the way and facing Angel again.  "Peaches is in the middle of a hissy fit about the Watcher, feeling all broody and guilty."  He grunted as Angel tackled him, and the two vampires rolled across the vacant interstate, smashing against the steel guardrail.  Spike shoved Angel off him and climbed to his feet, dodging another one of Angel's lunges.

            "I do not have hissy fits, boy," Angel said as he stood, wiping the highway grime off of his hands.

            Spike raised one eyebrow.  "Could've fooled me.  Are you going to stop brooding about something you had absolutely no control over and calm the fuck down?  There was no way you could've known about this bloke's part in the attacks, so stop feeling guilty about it.  You being an insufferable prat is not the way to help."

            Cordelia moved in front of Angel.  "Spike's right.  Wes is his own man.  You're not responsible for the choices he makes."  They faced off for a few moments, arms folded across their chests, faces locked in stubborn glares, silent communication passing between them.  Eventually, Angel sighed and uncrossed his arms.  Cordelia smiled triumphantly and escorted him back to his car.  She pointed towards the driver's seat as she said, "Now, get back in the car like a good vampire so Buffy can continue telling us all about kissing Spike."  Cordelia shoved Angel into the car and closed the door behind him, then returned to the SUV.  

            A nervous giggle escaped Buffy's lips, countering the murderous gleam in her eyes.  "That Cordelia.  She always knows how to induce maximum embarrassment with minimum effort."

            Tilting his head to the side, Spike stepped closer to Buffy.  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.  "So what exactly did you say about kissing me?"

            "I said-"

            "Buffy!  Come on!"  Cordelia honked the horn once, her fingers drumming impatiently across the steering wheel.

            Relief flooded Buffy's hazel eyes.  "Gotta go.  See you soon.  Bye."  She turned and nearly sprinted for the SUV.  When Buffy was halfway to the jeep, Fred stuck her head out of one of the back windows.

            "She said she likes the thing you do with your tongue," Fred said as Cordelia and Lorne burst into laughter inside the jeep.

            Eyes widening to saucer proportions, Buffy's head snapped towards Spike, and her skin turned a deep shade of red.  Struggling to maintain a calm composure, Spike crossed the distance between them and brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear.  His mouth curved into a smile as he said, "You told them about the thing with the tongue?"

            "Um… yeah.  I kind of had to because, you see, Cordelia said she thought Angel kissed better than you, so I had to prove her, you know, wrong."  Her eyes flickered down to the ground.  When she looked at Spike again, a mischievous glint shone in her eyes and a smirk pulled at her ruby lips.  "Cordelia's all jealous."

            "Really now."

            "Yep.  None of her boyfriends ever did that.  Not even Angel."

            "Is that what I am?" he asked softly.  "Your boyfriend?"

            Staring up at him, hazel eyes wide, illuminated by the headlights of the cars and the streetlights lining the interstate, Buffy said, "I don't know.  Is that what you want to be?"

            "Is that what you want me to be?"

            "Are you always going to answer a question with a question?"

            He laughed and ducked his head, looking at her from beneath his lashes.  "Probably."  The SUV's horn sounded again, closely followed by a blast from the Angel Mobile.  Spike tilted his head in the direction of Joyce's jeep and said, "You should get back before Cordelia drags you off again."

            "Yeah."  She stared at him for a moment longer before she walked to the SUV.  Buffy paused by the passenger door and turned back towards Spike.  Meeting his eyes, she said, "I think that's what I want you to be."  

            "I think that's what I want me to be, too." 

*                      *                      *

            Opening the front door, Dawn stared out at Angel.  She raised one eyebrow as a small, strained smile appeared on his face and then she slammed the door shut, giggling softly as she heard Angel's sigh of exasperation through the wood slab.  Leaning back against the door, Dawn pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and glanced at the watch adorning her wrist, counting silently as ten seconds ticked by.

            "Dawn?  What are you doing?"

            She looked up at Giles, an ecstatic grin creasing her face.  "Seeing how long it takes him to knock again.  Once, when he and Buffy were still dating, he waited two whole minutes.  He just stood out there and stared at the door."  Her grin faded under Giles' stoic stare, and she stifled an eye roll and heaved a world weary, tragic sigh.  "Fine.  Just know you're breaking a long standing tradition here."  Turning back to the door, Dawn pulled it open again.  "Hello, Angel!" she said, her voice bright with false cheer.  "How nice to see you again!  You're not evil, are you?"

            Angel blinked.  "No, Dawn.  I'm not evil."

            Cordelia appeared behind Angel, threading her arm through his and grasping his hand.  "He's just a bit cranky today, Dawn."  She patted Angel's arm with her free hand and rolled her eyes as he growled softly.  "You're not mad.  You're just sulking because Spike kicked your ass."

            "One, I am not sulking.  I do not sulk.  Why does everyone keep saying I sulk, pout, brood, mope, and have hissy fits?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Ignoring Cordelia's remark, Angel continued, "And two, Spike did not kick my ass."

            Cordelia nodded.  "You're right.  He did not kick your ass.  He kicked you in the chest and knocked you on your ass."

            Dawn coughed to smother a laugh as Angel sighed again and rubbed a hand across his forehead.  Another person to join the Torment Angel Ceaselessly Club.  She had already gotten Faith and Anya to join, with Willow, Giles, Emilia, and Clem politely bowing out, and Dawn knew Spike was a lifelong member, but nobody could snark and annoy like Cordelia.  

            "Dawn, can I come in?"

            Flashing Angel a bright smile, Dawn said, "Sure.  Your invite is still valid, so you could have come in at any time."

            One corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk as he and Cordelia crossed the threshold and moved into the Summers' home.  "Thank you, Dawn."

            "You're welcome, Angel."  Turning to Cordelia, Dawn slung her uninjured arm around Cordy's neck and gave her a hug.  "Hey, Cordy."

            "Hey, Dawn."  Cordelia pulled out of the hug, her dark eyes examining Dawn's sling for a moment.  Her gaze hardened at the sight of the soft cast encasing Dawn's arm.  

            "It's no big," Dawn said as she pushed Cordelia and Angel towards the living room.  "Just a sprain.  I should be sling-less in another week or so.  Everyone's in there.  Grab a chair if you can find one."  She turned back to the open front door as a thin brunette and massive bald-headed black guy appeared at the threshold.  "You two must be Fred and Gunn.  I'm Dawn.  Buffy's my sister."

            Fred nodded and held out her hand to Dawn.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

            "Likewise."  As Dawn shook Fred's hand, she tilted her head towards the dining room and said to Gunn, "You can put your battle-ax in the dining room if you want.  We moved all the weapons chests in there so there would be enough space in the living room for everyone to sit."

            "Thanks."

            Dawn moved onto the bottom step of the stairs to allow Fred and Gunn and Gunn's battle-ax to enter the dining room.  As she turned her gaze back to the open door, she saw the coolest looking demon ever.  His suit was cerulean and made out of a soft shiny material, and his shirt was scarlet silk.  The tie was a swirl of colors, reminding Dawn of the Jackson Pollock paintings she studied in art class a few years ago.  

            "This must be the enchanting Dawn," Lorne said as he laid a kiss on the back of Dawn's hand.  

            "Yep.  That's me.  Enchanting Dawn.  And you're Lorne."

            "You are correct, milady," Lorne said, moving into the entryway.  "You have a lovely home, Dawn."

            "Thank you.  My mom did the decorating.  She owned an art and antique gallery, so she had access to all sorts of cool stuff."

            His crimson eyes softened as he lightly grasped Dawn's hand.  "Your mother had extraordinary taste."

            Dawn nodded, a wisp of a smile curving her lips.  "Yes, she did.  Thank you.  Everyone's in the living room.  Make yourself at home."  She directed Lorne towards the living room, her blue eyes darting back to the entrance and locking onto a pair of sullen brown.  Her gaze flickered to the living room and landed briefly on Angel before returning to the boy before her.  Ah.  Angel's kid.  It was freaky enough that Angel had a kid, let alone the fact that Connor was a mirror image of Angel, right down to the same brooding scowl adorning his features.

            Dawn waved.  "I'm Dawn.  Welcome to Sunnydale."  Connor didn't say anything.  He shuffled from one foot to the other, his dark gaze flickering from the straw mat on the porch, to Dawn's face, and down to his hands.  Oooo-kay.  Buffy didn't mention he was non-verbal, although Dawn doubted being raised in a demon dimension encouraged sparkling conversation skills.  "You can come in, if you want to."

            Silent, Connor slipped inside the house.  He frowned as he noticed the sling on Dawn's arm.  His dark eyes peered at her through his long hair; his gaze was intense, his eyes the color of melted chocolate, and Dawn felt a slight flutter shoot through her stomach.  "I'm Connor," he said.

            "Dawn.  That's, um, me.  But I already said that, didn't I?  Everyone's right over there but if you're thirsty or anything, the kitchen's in the back of the house.  We have water and more water and maybe a bit of leftover blood, which you probably wouldn't want seeing as how you're not a vampire."  Open mouth, insert foot.  Way to babble, Dawn.

            His mouth curved into a lopsided grin and he mumbled, "Thanks," before slipping into the living room.

            Dawn forced herself not to blush as she stepped out of the house.  Spike stood at the edge of the porch, his blue eyes wide and focused on the open door.  She heard Buffy murmur something to Spike and reach for his hand, but he shook his head softly, taking a step back from the porch.  Brows drawing together in concern, Dawn wondered why he was reluctant to enter the house.  Since his return to Sunnydale, chipless and soulful, he had been inside her and Buffy's house, staying the night after the attack by the assassins outside the Bronze.  Whatever the reason for the current hesitation, it could be dealt with later.  Dawn plastered a bright smile on her face as she walked down the porch towards Buffy and Spike.

            "Spike," Dawn said as she laid the teenage grip of death on his hand and began to pull him towards the door, "I am soooo glad you are here.  Giles ruined my ritual Angel greeting, so I need to make up for it with lots of snark.  I have some comments lined up about Angel's hair and funny walk, 'cause you know he sort of looks like Quasimodo, all hunched over and broody, but they are so yesterday's insults.  I need some really good ones."  

Over Spike's shoulder, she caught Buffy's eye.  Her sister mouthed 'Thank you' as she followed Dawn and Spike across the porch.  Dawn shrugged and turned her attention back to Spike.  "And I know you know something really embarrassing about Angel that would be perfect."  She glanced up at him and found his gaze locked on something in the doorway.  Dawn followed Spike's line of sight and sighed at the man blocking their way into her home.

Xander leaned against the doorjamb, eyes hard with hatred, arms folded across his chest, stake held lightly in one hand.

*                      *                      *


	33. Love and Hate

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

Chapter Thirty-Three: Love and Hate

By: Wynn

            The saying goes 'There's a thin line between love and hate.'  The old adage might have held true for Spike's relationship with Buffy, definitely applied to his relationship with Angel, but there was no line between love and hate for Spike and Xander.  That's because there was no love.  There was only hate.  Spike always knew Xander hated him, at first simply for the fact that he was a vampire.  As time progressed, Xander's hatred moved beyond the basic difference of species to a more personal and intense hatred cultivated through the constantly fluctuating and complex relationship Spike had with the Scoobies, particularly his relationship with Buffy.    

            But the look on Xander's face, the gleam in his eyes, went beyond hatred.  Beyond loathing.  Beyond revulsion.  It was a look familiar to Spike because it was a look he had seen on his own face every time he peered into a mirror since his soul had been returned to him.  

            "If it's alright with you, Harris," Spike said, his blue eyes never wavering from Xander, "maybe we could do this someplace private."

            "Fine by me, Spike."

            Xander uncrossed his arms and pushed off the doorjamb.  Spike tried to slip his hand out of Dawn's grasp.  Her fierce grip tightened further, and she stepped between Spike and Xander, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes hard and locked on Xander.

            "Let him go, Dawn," Xander said.

            "No."

            "Dawn, Harris and I are just going to have a little chat."

            "Really?  And here I thought you were going to have a little staking.  I wonder how I got all confused.  It's certainly not because of the stake in Xander's hand."  Dawn raised her chin in the air as she stared at Xander.  "If you want to have a little chat, do it right here, right now."

            Xander tore his gaze away from Spike and looked at Dawn, taking in the resolute tilt to her chin and stubborn glint to her eyes.  Sighing, he turned back to Spike and said, "So I heard you got yourself a soul."

            "I did."

            "I bet you think you're a changed man now.  Or maybe you think because you're an ex-soulless bastard you're not responsible for everything you did as a soulless bastard."

            "You call Spike a bastard one more time, Xander," Dawn said taking a step closer to him, fire flashing in her eyes, "and I will throw you out of my house."

            "You're still defending him?  After what he did to your sister-"

            "Oh, yes.  Let's talk about that.  Do you remember how I found out about that, Xander?  Do you?  **You** told me, in the middle of the street, while we were on the run from a psychotic Willow."

            "You needed to know the truth, Dawn."

            "But you didn't tell me because you thought I needed to know the truth.  And you didn't tell me because you cared about me or Buffy or wanted to protect us.  You told me because you hate Spike and you wanted me to hate him, too."

            Spike laid a hand on Dawn's shoulder and gently pulled her back towards him.  "Dawn…"

            She looked up at him, her body trembling with anger.  "No.  I'm not going to let him attack you like this.  You made a mistake last year.  Just like everyone else made mistakes last year, including Xander."  She turned away from Spike and faced Xander again.  "Did you forget about all the bad stuff you've done?  Have you forgotten about all the mistakes you've made?  You almost got Faith killed.  You left Anya at the altar, broke her heart, and left town without so much as an explanation.  You brought that singing demon to town, which killed a couple people and almost got Buffy killed again."

            Xander dropped his gaze to the ground.  "Dawn…"

            "You want to delve deeper into the past, Xander?  You cheated on Cordelia with Willow.  Put a love spell on the entire high school that turned all the women into rabid murderous lust puppies.  Do you remember all these mistakes you made?  Have you forgotten all the mistakes that people have forgiven you for, just like we've forgiven Spike and Buffy and Willow and Faith and Anya and Angel and me for all the bad things we've done in the past?  Spike's changed and he's trying to do good, which is why he went and fought for his soul.  So there will be no little talk with a stake.  There will be no more threatening Spike or calling him a bastard because you feel like it.  And if you don't like it, you can get the hell out of my house."

            "Technically, it's my house," Buffy said as she stepped between Dawn and Xander, a tight smile on her face.  She reached down, plucked the stake from Xander's hand, and tossed it over the porch railing.  "But I agree with what Dawn said about Spike.  He's changed.  He's not going anywhere anytime soon, so please find a way to work with him or work around him because we do not have the time to deal with another one of these showdowns."

            A minute passed.  Xander glanced from Buffy to Dawn and back again, his gaze softening, the hatred replaced with a wearied resignation.  Shaking his head softly, he stepped out of the doorway.  "I hope you know what you're doing," he said as Buffy moved by him.  

            "I do."  She glanced over her shoulder at Dawn, a wicked grin on her face, and said, "I have the absolute perfect embarrassing Angel moment you can use against him.  Something Lorne told me, actually.  Have you ever heard of the song _Mandy?"_

            An evil smile crossed Dawn's face.  She disentangled her hand from Spike's as she glanced at him.  "This doesn't mean you're off the hook though.  You lived with Angel for, like, forever, so I know you have some good ribbing material stored up."

            Spike suppressed the smirk that threatened to form on his face.  Nodding gravely, he said to Dawn, "I have one or two particularly gruesome embarrassing moments I'd be willing to share about Peaches.  For the right price."

            "No spicy buffalo wings or sour cream and onion chips or anything else resembling junk food on the premises.  So it's gonna have to be hot cocoa with lots of gooey marshmallows."

            "Perfect."  He nudged Dawn into the house.  "Buffy's waiting for you.  Go learn about Angel's horrid singing."

            Blue eyes darting between Xander and Spike, Dawn said, "You are coming in though.  Right?"

            "Yeah, Bit.  Be inside in a sec."

            "Ok.  I'll be waiting for you."

            Xander watched Dawn enter the house and disappear into the living room.  He stepped in front of Spike and crossed his arms over his chest.  "You hurt her again and I will kill you.  Soul or no soul."

            Spike nodded.  Maneuvering around Xander, he crossed the threshold and moved into the Summers' home as he said, "Get in the line, mate.  Others have made the same promise.  Myself included."

*                      *                      *

            The sky was clear, dotted with puffy white clouds, and brilliant with sunshine.  Willow took a deep breath and knocked on the front door to the Summers' house.  After the inevitable Spike and Xander confrontation, which turned out a lot better than Willow had expected due to the lack of fighting or dustage, Giles had postponed the big discussion about the latest attempt to takeover the Hellmouth.  Tempers were short and volatile, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite an inferno of anger and badness, and having everyone in the same room at the same time with an easily accessible pile of weapons in the next room was not of the good.  So the group had split for a much needed night of rest, waiting to reconvene at Buffy and Dawn's the next day.

            The front door opened and Buffy stared out at Willow, hazel eyes narrowing from the morning sunshine.  Or maybe they narrowed from staring at Willow.  Or both.  Willow tried to banish the thoughts in her head of Buffy slamming the door in her face or throwing her off of the porch or tearing her arms out of her sockets and beating her with them.  Buffy had accepted her back into the fold before she left for England, but maybe feelings had changed over the past few months and Buffy now hated her for what she did, for what she tried to do.  Willow mentally shook her head, trying to clear her mind from nervous rambles and wild speculation, and a half-smile appeared on her face as she said, "Hey."

            A moment passed and then Buffy smiled, moving out of the doorway and gathering Willow into a fierce hug.  "Hey.  I missed you."

            Willow nodded lamely, blinking rapidly in an attempt to curb the tears flooding her green eyes.  She sniffed once and said, "I missed you, too."  Pulling back, she smoothed a hand over Buffy's now tear stained shoulder and grimaced.  "I went all leaky and blubbery on you.  I'm sorry."

            Buffy shook her head as she grasped Willow's hand and pulled her inside the house.  "It's no big," she said, covertly wiping a hand beneath her eyes.  "Do you want something to drink?  Dawn complained last night that all we had in the house was water and blood, so we did an emergency stop at the grocery store, picked up some orange juice, soda, some sort of weird tea stuff Giles likes."

            "Orange juice sounds great," Willow said as they made their way into the kitchen.  She sat on one of the stools surrounding the island counter and watched Buffy pull out two mugs before grabbing the juice out of the refrigerator.  

            Moving over to the counter, Buffy poured the juice into the two cups and said, "You're here early."

            "Yeah.  Xander was a bit cranky last night.  I thought it best to give him a little alone time before the big group meeting."

            Buffy grimaced.  "Was he pissed about the whole defending Spike thing?"

            "A little.  He's more confused than pissed, I think.  A lot's changed since we've been gone.  Faith and Anya are now best friends, which wigs Xander to no end.  The only two women on the planet he's ever done the deed with are now bestest buds.  Spike is back, with a soul he sought out himself.  Angel and Cordelia are back in town and are apparently together, and Angel has a kid, a teenage kid, with an un-dead and re-vamped but now dusted Darla.  And Wesley's trying to kill us all."  Willow paused and took a sip of orange juice from her mug.  "So confusion is the current state of mind for Xander."

            "I think that's the state of mind for all of us."  Buffy shook her head as she fiddled with the cup in her hands.  "But enough of the crazy talk.  How was England?  Was the coven nice?"

            Willow nodded, a bright smile appearing on her face.  "Yeah.  They were a bit wary at first, which is totally understandable considering, you know, the flaying and burning and almost world endage, but they were still really nice and supportive.  I learned a lot about the magic, about the power inside me, how to respect it and use it without going all black eyed and psychotic."  A small frown furrowed her brow.  "Well, without going all psychotic.  Apparently the black eyes are permanent."  Willow shrugged and took another drink of juice.  "I've started doing a little bit of magic again.  Nothing too serious.  Except for that healing spell for Faith, but that was a life or death situation there so I kind of had-"

            "Wait.  What was a life or death situation?"

            Willow blinked.  She looked at Buffy, who stared back at her, one eyebrow arched in confusion.  "Giles didn't tell you what happened?  How Faith almost died?"

            "Faith almost died?!  When did this happen?"

            "About three, four days ago.  She, Anya, and Xander were breaking into Tyler's and he showed up, got behind her, and slit her throat."

            Realization flashed through Buffy's eyes.  "That's what Dawn meant about Xander almost getting Faith killed."

            "He kind of distracted her at a crucial moment and Tyler capitalized on that distraction."  

            Buffy smiled bitterly.  "I guess Wesley and Lilah are serious about wanting us dead.  First Spike and now Faith."

            "What happened to Spike?"

            "He was shot.  With a wood bullet.  Right in front of me."

            Willow raised an eyebrow as Buffy abruptly pushed away from the counter and poured the rest of her orange juice down the drain.  She turned the hot water faucet and began to scrub the mug, her movements' quick and fierce, steam rising from the sink as the temperature of the water increased.  Willow placed her glass on the counter and slid off the stool, moving over to the sink and shutting off the hot water.  "Buffy?"

            Buffy jumped and the mug slipped out of her hand, clanking against the steel basin of the sink.  A humorless grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as Buffy reached for a paper towel.  "Sorry, Wil.  I thought… I thought I was Ok with it."  She finished drying her hands and tossed the damp towel in the garbage.  

            "Buffy?  What's-"

            "You're going to think I'm crazy," Buffy said, pacing the length of the kitchen.  "Which I probably am but not about this.  At least I don't think so because it feels right.  It feels normal and sane to me, and I think it does to him too, but then we get back here and there's stakes and confrontations and now I don't know.  I want it to be right and fine and chock full of happiness and goodness but this is Sunnydale and nothing is ever chock full of anything but horror and misery.  And do you think I'm crazy?"

            "Quite possibly."  Willow moved over to Buffy and gently led her to the kitchen table.  Pulling out a chair, she nudged Buffy into it and settled in the seat opposite her best friend.  She opened her mouth to speak but closed it before any coherent words formed on her lips.  Buffy's half-hysterical rambling rants took a few moments to process.  A couple seconds passed before Willow said, "Ok.  This is about you and… Spike?"

            "Yeah."

            "And you want it to be chock full of happiness and goodness… because it feels right?"

            "Yeah."

            "And this 'it' is about you and Spike being… you and Spike, like together in a couple-y way, you and Spike?"

            Buffy's eyes were large, vulnerability peeking through the tough shell usually encasing the Slayer.  She gnawed on her bottom lip as she said, "Yeah."

            "Ok."

            "You think I'm crazy, don't you, for wanting there to be a 'me and Spike?'"

            "No," Willow said quickly.  She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug.  "Well, maybe a little.  I think that confusion epidemic has spread to me, too."  Willow drew in a deep breath and looked at Buffy.  She would not judge or condemn or jump to the conclusion that her best friend needed serious therapy.  This was a time to listen and attempt to understand the near incomprehensible.  "So you want to be a part of a 'you and Spike.'  Do you love him?"

            "If I said I did, how much would it freak you out?"

            "I don't know.  Medium wiggage I guess.  Or maybe none at all because I think you just told me you love him in a roundabout, answering the question by not answering kind of way."  She paused.  "Does he know how you feel?"

            Buffy sighed and stood, drawing a hand through her hair as she began to pace the kitchen again.  "Yes.  He knows.  I didn't plan to feel this way.  It wasn't like I purposely wanted to fall in love with another vampire.  Not after the first go round was miraculously tragic and angsty.  It just happened.  He just happened.  Completely unexpected but feeling totally natural and right and what was meant to happen.  Am I making any sense?"

            Mind filling with images of Tara, of a love that wasn't planned, of a love that just happened, Willow nodded, a sad smile crossing her face.  "You're making all kinds of sense."

            "I don't want to have to hide whatever's going on between me and Spike.  I don't want him to think I'm ashamed to be with him because I'm not.  But I know the concept of a 'me and Spike' is strange to everyone here, and I don't want to freak you guys out or make you uncomfortable."

            "I'm not going to say I'm not a little freaked by the idea of you and Spike because I am.   The last go round for you two seemed pretty bad.  But I won't tell you what you should and shouldn't do.  If you think Spike's changed, and by what you said to Xander last night you do think he's changed, and if you love him, which you just said you did, then I guess there really isn't any reason for you to not be with him.  Everyone'll deal.  Eventually.  Hopefully."

            Buffy let out the breath she'd been holding.  Returning to her chair, she reached out and clasped Willow's hand.  "Thank you.  For trying to understand."

            "It's what best friends are for.  I just want you to be happy."

            "I think I could be with Spike."

            "Then that's all that matters."  Willow held Buffy's hand for a moment longer before she stood.  "I should go.  Let you get ready for the big group meeting thing tonight."

            "You don't have to go."

            Willow smiled.  "I know.  I have some things I need to take care of before tonight.  College stuff.  I'll see you later."  She turned and waved goodbye to Buffy over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

*                      *                      *

            Spike banged on the door, his frustration reaching epic proportions.  He mentally cursed his soul for making him be polite and offer a place to stay at his house for Angel, Cordelia, and the rest of the L.A. gang.  He didn't mind the fact that the bathroom was constantly occupied or that everywhere he turned he ran into someone scurrying about or that he was awaken this morning by Lorne's rendition of _Lady Marmalade.  But this was too much.  A bloke could only take so much before reaching the breaking point, and this was the final straw that broke this bloody camel's back.  _

            "Angel!  Open the goddamn door!  Right now!"

            The door to Angel and Cordelia's room creaked open, and Angel peered out at Spike, innocence plastered across his face.  "Yes?"

            "Where is it?"

            Angel blinked.  "Excuse me?"

            "Oh, do not even try the innocent act, Angelus.  I know you've got it.  Only you would be stupid enough to take it."

            A mischievous, knowing gleam peeked from behind Angel's innocent façade. "I have no idea what you're talking about, William." 

            Jaw clenched and hands fisted, Spike suppressed a growl and drew in a shaky, calming breath.  He mentally counted to ten, willing the urge to launch himself at Angel and rip his head off to retreat to his subconscious.  He opened his mouth to speak again but an idea crept into his mind, and he smiled.  Evilly.  "You don't give me back my book and I'll tell Dawn all about Madrid."

            A dark look crossed Angel's face, his pretense of innocence dissolving in a flash.  "You wouldn't."

            "Wouldn't I?"

            Angel growled as he spun away from the door and stalked into his room.  Reaching under the bed, he withdrew the poetry book and shoved it into Spike's hands.  "There's your _sodding_ book, Beer boy."  

            Ignoring Angel, Spike thumbed through the book, searching for the few sheets of paper stored between the pages.  They were where he had left them, resting between Wordsworth and Tennyson, his first attempt in over a hundred years to compose his own poetry.  Glancing at Angel, he said, "You didn't read them, did you?"

            Still glowering, Angel said, "No."

            Spike nodded.  "Good."  He walked back to the door, stopping short as Angel spoke again.

            "Going to finish making yourself pretty for Buffy."

            "I am not making myself pretty for Buffy," Spike said through gritted teeth as he turned back to Angel.  He ran a hand over his newly shorn locks, courtesy of Cordelia and Lorne, the inevitable curls his hair turned into when it was long tamed by the short length.  "I was just tired of all these curls flopping around, getting in my face all the time.  It was irritating."

            "Sure.  Whatever you say, Spike."

            "At least I'm not wearing mass amounts of cologne like you.  You smell bloody ridiculous, Angelus.  Here's hoping the cheerleader appreciates it 'cause everyone else within a fifteen mile radius doesn't."

            "The 'cheerleader' appreciates it very much," Cordelia said as she entered the bedroom, breaking the tension between the two vampires.  "Although it is a bit strong at times."  Cutting off Angel's growl of protest, she turned to Spike and said, "You have a visitor."

            "Who is it?"

            Cordelia pointed over his shoulder and Spike turned, coming face to face with Willow.  Great.  When Scoobies attack, part two.  Sighing, Spike edged around Willow, out of the bedroom and into the hall.  He moved down the hallway to his bedroom, flipping on the light switch as Willow entered the room behind him and shut the door.

            "Willow-"

            She held up a hand and pointed to his bed.  "Sit.  Please."  As Spike sat down upon the bed, she continued, "It has come to my attention that you and Buffy are more than 'just friends.'"

            "Who-"

            "Hey!  No talking yet."  Frowning at the interruption, Willow slowly walked around the room, keeping one eye on Spike and the other on his bedroom furnishings.  "Now, as I said, it has come to my attention that you and Buffy are more than 'just friends.'  My question to you, Spike, is what do you plan to do about this extra-friendly status?"

            "What?  I don't know just yet.  I've only known Buffy's wanted to be more than friends for one day, and most of my attention has been focused on these people that're trying to kill us."

            Willow arched an eyebrow and glanced at his short, spiky hair.

            "I said most."  Spike laid the book of poetry beside him as he said, "What's the deal here, Red?  Are you here to warn me to stay away from Buffy?"

            "No.  No warning.  Well, except for the one that if you hurt her in any way, I'll do worse than just stake you.  And I'll make it to the head of the line first."  Willow crossed the room and peered at him through narrowed eyes.  "I just want to make sure your intentions are honorable.  No more chaining Buffy up to walls or building another sex-bot or any of the other bad stuff that went on between the two of you last year."

            Spike leaned back slightly, increasing the space between himself and Willow.  He saw her eyes flash black for a second before returning to their normal green.  "I don't want any of that.  Ever again."

            Willow nodded and continued her tour of his bedroom.  "Good.  Now, flowers and chocolates are decent but overdone.  I wouldn't go with flowers at all.  Buffy isn't particularly fond of them, especially not roses.  She hates roses.  The best bet is to go for original, thoughtful tokens of your affection.  And original and thoughtful does not always mean weaponry, got it?  Maybe-"

            "Willow, what are you doing?"

            "Making sure you don't screw up your second chance with Buffy.  She deserves to be happy, she wants to be happy, and you make her happy."

            "Oh."  This was unexpected.  Spike mentally amended the 'When Scoobies attack' to 'When Scoobies shock the hell out of you.'  He knew Red was open minded about most things, considering she herself had been one-half of an unconventional relationship, but her helping him in his romantic relations with Buffy was nearly beyond belief.  Glancing up at Willow, he said, "Thank you."    

            "The way you can thank me is by treating Buffy right.  And this is not for you.  Buffy's had enough crap boyfriends who've done what's right for them in their relationship, leaving her heartbroken and alone.  You have a second chance to make things right with her, and you can't take it for granted because it could be gone quicker than you can say 'bloody hell' and you're left wishing you could do anything to go back and make things better but you can't."

            Spike stood and walked over to Willow.  Her gaze was focused upon another one of his volumes of literature, green eyes obscured by a curtain of red hair.  "If it's any consolation," he said softly, "I'm sorry about Tara.  She was always decent to me even after all the rotten stuff I'd done in the past.  True compassion like that is a rarity."

            Willow shoved her hear behind her ear.  Eyes brimmed with unshed tears, she said, "Thanks.  She… she was beautiful.  She glowed, you know.  Sunshine in nothing but darkness.  I-"  Willow broke off, a watery smile appearing on her face.  "I think it's time for me to go.  I have to get to UC Sunnydale, see if they'll let me re-enroll after my complete disappearance from classes last semester."

            "They'll give you a second chance."  Spike shifted, his eyes flickering from the floor and back to Willow.  "Thank you, again.  I don't deserve-"

            "You know how you can thank me."  Willow walked to the door.  She glanced over her shoulder at Spike, a small smile on her face.  "Although cutting your hair helped the thanking process.  You looked weird with the soft curls.  All Victorian and proper.  It was a bit freaky." 

*                      *                      *


	34. Truth Takes Time

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.  Only the plot is mine._

AN: Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, including my beta SpikeLover7.  It's been my baby since June 2002, and I am glad that it has been an entertaining and shocking and interesting read.  

Chapter Thirty-Four: Truth Takes Time

By: Wynn

            "This is what we know," Giles said, his grey eyes flickering across the faces crowding the Summers' living room.  The only people who were missing from the combined Sunnydale and L.A. crew were Clem and Emilia, who had both volunteered to make a grocery run for the sixteen humans, demons, and in betweens in the Summers' house.  Clearing his throat, Giles continued, "Wesley, Lilah, and a man named Samuel approached and hired Tyler to spy on Buffy and film her with surveillance equipment provided by them.  The same sort of camera found at Tyler's business was also discovered in the Magic Box and was used to record Faith.  We don't know how long the camera at the magic shop was in place or how it was installed without our knowledge."

            "Long enough for them to learn all about us," Anya said from her place on the couch.  "Tyler knew stuff about me.  And more than the fact that I was a Vengeance Demon.  He knew about me and Xander, and he couldn't have learned about it from Wesley.  He wasn't here then."

            Eyes clouded, Giles stared down at the floor.  "And our… guest hasn't been very forthright with information since Xander and I brought him back here.  So we must assume that whether by the surveillance cameras or other means these people know intimate details of our lives."

            "From what Lilah said," Buffy began, pacing slowly in front of the fireplace, "all of these past attacks on us were just tests, ways to assess our fighting skills and how we work with one another."  She paused and a small frown appeared on her face.  "Or she could have been blowing smoke about the whole 'Maybe we wanted our plans to kill you to fail spectacularly' because she was pissed that they did fail."

            Angel shook his head.  "Lilah wouldn't lie.  She's too confident in her abilities to bow down to simple lying and distractions.  So whatever she said to you was deliberate and most likely the truth."

            "You're probably right.  The planned failure fits with what she said about other plans being made, how there was no way for us to avoid them, we're all going to die, blah, blah, blah."  Buffy shrugged as she ran a hand over her hair.  "Whatever.  No matter how confident she is in her abilities, she knows someone is after her now.  I mean, besides us.  Those pictures of her and that house on Mulberry-"

            "Mulholland," Dawn corrected.

            "-Melbourne Lane were a shock to her.  Whether these pictures were left for Lilah to find or for us to find, either way it means we may have an unknown ally somewhere working against Lilah, Wesley, and the other guy."

            "Samuel."

            Buffy flashed a tight smile at her baby sister.  "Yes.  Samuel.  Thank you, Dawn."  She sighed as a bright grin appeared on Dawn's face and continued, "Since Lilah's gone, Wesley's MIA, Tyler isn't talking, and we have no way of finding this Samuel guy, our best bet is this house Lilah and Tyler went to.  I don't want to sit around and wait for whatever plan these four have cooked up.  We're taking the fight to them."  

            Turning to Willow, Buffy said, "Can you find floor plans for this house?  Sewer access tunnels, power line feeds, the usual."

            Willow nodded.  "Shouldn't be a problem."

            "Good.  Also see if you can find any information about who owns the house, if there are any utilities being paid for, and so on.  Maybe it could lead us to this Samuel person."  

            "Got it."

            Buffy glanced at Angel and Spike as she said, "Feel like a trip to Willy's?  See if there's any gossip about the house or any big new player in town."

            Spike looked at Buffy, a wolfish grin curving his lips.  "No problem, pet.  Now, in case he decides to be stingy on the info-"

            Suppressing an amused eye roll, she said, "Just don't do too much damage to his place, Ok?  The last time we went to him for information Anya started a bar fight."

            "I didn't **start** the bar fight," Anya said.  "I just happened to be there right around the time it occurred.  Innocent bystander innocently watching the amusing proceedings."

            "Well, since you're now an expert at standing innocently and watching, how about you and Faith do some surveillance on Mulholland.  Check out the level of activity at the house, who's coming and going, things like that."  Her eyes darted to Faith, lingering on the scar slicing across her neck.  "You feel up to it?"

            "All systems a go, B.  I think I can handle sitting on my ass and watching a house."

            Buffy watched Faith for a moment longer before she slowly nodded.  "Dawn, Fred, Lorne.  You guys get started on the research.  Try to find anything you can about what sorts of spells or magicks hide electronic devices from detection.  Lilah might use the same cloaking spell on any surveillance equipment that could be guarding the house."  

            Off their nods, Buffy turned and pointed to Gunn, Connor, and Xander.  "Can you three take weapons detail?  See what we have already and what else we might need for a home invasion."

            "What are you going to do?" Xander asked.

            A cold smirk curved Buffy's lips.  "Giles and I are going to have a little chat with Tyler."  The grin faded off her face as she looked around the room.  "Everyone knows what to do.  Be back here by sundown.  We're hitting this place tonight."

*                      *                      *

            "How are you feeling?"

            Faith sighed, her dark eyes darting from the brick house to Anya, who looked at her with arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arched in concern.  They were on the roof of the building opposite the house Tyler and Lilah had both visited, two hours into their surveillance, and Anya had already asked about Faith's feelings four times.  Each time was met with a strained 'Fine' coupled with a murderous scowl on Faith's face, but Anya wasn't deterred by the hostile vibes her best friend was emitting.  If anything, Faith's refusal to answer Anya's questions increased her curiosity and prodded her into asking about Faith's thoughts, feelings, and emotions again and again and again.  

            "And don't say 'Fine,'" Anya said as Faith opened her mouth to speak.  "Willow told me about your destruction of the mirror.  She said you wanted Tyler to kill you."

            Faith rolled her eyes.  "Did she now?  And since when is Saint Willow an expert on what I'm feeling or not feeling?"

            "She's not, which is why I'm asking you," Anya said patiently.  She shifted on the shingled rooftop and glanced briefly at the house before she spoke again.  "You're my friend, Faith.  Deal with my persistent inquiries into your state of mind because they're not stopping anytime soon.  No matter how much you glare at me."

            "Look, I wasn't pissed because I was still alive.  I don't have some death wish or suicidal tendencies, if that's what you're thinking.  I was just letting off a bit of steam.  So you can chill with the intervention, alright?"

            "That's good.  I'm pleased you don't wish to die.  But then why-"

            "Anya, just drop it.  I don't feel like analyzing my emotions right now."

            "Why not?  It's not like we have anything else to do.  There isn't anything remotely interesting going on at-"

            "Incoming," Faith said, cutting off Anya's boredom tirade, as she saw movement at the end of the street.  A long limousine turned the corner onto Mulholland Drive, moving down the road until it slowed to a stop in front of the brick house.  A burly driver hopped out of the front seat and maneuvered around the car, opening the rear door.  Faith heard Anya's sharp intake of breath as two figures emerged from the shadowed darkness of the limo.  Wesley and Lilah moved onto the sidewalk and walked towards the house.  Halfway to the front door, the duo stopped.

            "What's going on?" Anya whispered.  "What are they doing?"

            Frowning, Faith squinted into the afternoon sunshine, trying to get a clearer focus on Wes and Lilah.  "They're fighting," she said as Wes pointed towards the house, his face inches away from Lilah's.  Even from this distance, the strained muscles in Wesley's neck and shoulders were visible, as was the scowl adorning his features.  Faith saw Lilah roll her eyes and turn away from Wes, saying something over her shoulder to him; the lawyer walked to the front door and entered the house without looking back.  Wesley stared at the brick façade a moment longer before he spun and stalked away from the house.  He bypassed the limousine and made his way down the cracked sidewalk stretching alongside Mulholland Drive.  

            Faith inched away from the roofline.  "Stay here and watch the house," she told Anya as she crawled across the tar to the ladder hanging off the side of the building.  "Make sure Lilah doesn't go anywhere."

            "Where are you going?"

            "After Wes."

*                      *                      *

            The doors to Willy's Bar smashed open, banging against the walls, the vibrations of impact knocking a few of the neon signs advertising various beer, blood, and other liquids onto the dirt encrusted floor.  Willy ducked behind the bar, his small, beady eyes peering between the taps towards the entrance.  A squeak of fear escaped his lips as he saw Angel and Spike saunter into the silent room, Angel composed and serious, dark eyes drifting around the smoky interior with a measured intensity while Spike strolled around the room with a cocky grin plastered across his face, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.  

            Willy sunk to the floor and began crawling towards the exit.  First, the Slayer sent the crazy Vengeance Demon to get information, and the broad started a bar fight within two minutes of her arrival.  And over the color of her hair, no less.  Now, the Slayer sent her two vampires, and Satan knew what these two were capable of.  Willy bet the entire bar could be demolished into a big pile of dust in five minutes flat if those two put their minds to it.

            He tensed as he heard Spike address the silent crowd.  "If you're not Willy, I suggest you leave.  Now.  Before Peaches gets really mad and decides to delve into his dark side.  Angelus-"

            The rest of Spike's threat was drowned out by the sounds of chairs squealing against the tiled floor and the rush of feet and hooves scrambling for the exits.  Willy increased his speed and had one hand over the threshold when he was lifted up and plopped onto the bar.  He giggled nervously as his eyes darted from Angel to Spike, and he lifted his hand in a gesture somewhat resembling a wave.  "H-hey, guys.  Man, long time no see.  I have a nice gallon of O Neg in the back if you're hungry-"

            "We're not here for your blood," Angel said.  "We have a few questions we'd like you to answer."

            "And if you don't answer them," Spike said as he leaned close to Willy, eyes darting down to the barkeep's neck, "we might change our minds about the blood."

            Willy swallowed as he shifted on the bar, vainly trying to increase the space between him and Spike.  Word on the street was that his chip was no longer an issue, so Willy knew he could make good on his threat.  "S-sure.  Whatever you guys want to know.  I mean, people haven't been telling me much, so I don't know a whole lot, but anything I do know, I'll be glad to tell you."

            Spike smiled wickedly.  "Excellent.  There's a house on Mulholland Drive.  Heard anything about it?"

            Willy shook his head.  "No."

            "You sure you know nothing about it?"

            "I don't know anything.  But that's the weird part.  That place used to be a real hotspot for demon activity.  All sorts of stuff going down over there.  But I haven't heard squat in the last few months.  Demons are steering clear of that place."  He paused, looking between Spike and Angel.  "I figured the Slayers added it to their patrol routes."

            Angel placed one hand on the bar and brought his face closer to Willy's.  "So you haven't heard anything else about why the demons are suddenly avoiding that place?"

            Shaking his head quickly, Willy said, "No, man.  I haven't heard nothing else.  Nope.  Not at all."

            Angel pushed off the bar and glanced at Spike.  "Now why don't I believe him, Spike?"

            Spike shrugged.  "Don't know.  Maybe 'cause there's something he's not telling us."

            "That's what I thought.  Don't you feel real bad that our pal Willy has decided to lie to us?"

            "I feel really, really bad."

            "Me, too.  And I don't like feeling bad."

            "I hate feeling bad.  Makes me feel like hitting something.  Or someone."

            Willy held up his hands as beads of sweat slid across his forehead.  "Ok, so maybe I heard something else.  It's no big really.  It's just that these people at the house sent word through the demon community that there was a reward for the first one to take out the Slayers."  He screamed as Spike grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him off the bar, the vampire's blue eyes flashing gold..

            "If there's a price on the Slayers' heads, why haven't there been any attacks on them?"

            "'Cause no demon in his right mind'll take these people up on their offer.  A human wanting the Slayer dead?  It don't smell right.  And that's all I know, honest.  I haven't heard anything else."

            Tilting his head, Spike stared at Willy, his gaze cold and dangerous.  A minute passed, long enough for Willy's life to flash before his eyes a few hundred times, before Spike released him, sending the barkeep tumbling to the floor.  Grinning, Spike ambled away from Willy.  "Pleasure doing business with you, Willy."

            "Yeah," Angel said, moving towards the door.  "It was an illuminating experience.  We'll have to do it again sometime."

            "Again?  Oh, again.  Sure, guys.  Again would be great.  You two are welcome back here anytime you want."

            "That's right nice of you," Spike said.  "We find out you're lying to us or holding out any more information and we'll take you up on your generous offer.  Be seeing you, Willy."

*                      *                      *

            "Wakey, wakey."  Buffy shook Tyler's head, lightly jostling it within her grasp until he opened his eyes and looked at her.  "No more beauty rest for you.  It's time for a little Q and A."

            Tyler jerked his head out of her hands and kicked at her, growling as she danced out of the reach of his foot.  "I'm not answering anything, Goldilocks."

            Tilting her head to the side, Buffy folded her arms across her chest and said, "Don't call me that."

            Snorting in derision, Tyler said, "Why not?  Did I _offend you?  Heaven forbid I offend the chick who has me chained to a concrete pillar!"_

            "One, it's your own damn fault you're chained to the pillar.  If you hadn't tried to kill Faith, you wouldn't be here, looking like you had the crap kicked out of you by an entire football team.  And two, only one person is allowed to call me Goldilocks, and it's not you."  Buffy paused a moment before she continued, "Now, Giles tells me that you've been less than forthcoming with-"

            "I'm not telling you shit, Blondie.  And you can cut the threatening crap.  You're not going to kill me.  You're not even going to hurt me, not with you holier than thou good guy sensibilities.  So buzz off, Princess. You're giving me a headache."

            Her jaw clenched, Buffy moved a few steps closer to Tyler and said, "We don't have to hurt you.  All we have to do is make one phone call."

            Tyler cocked an eyebrow.  "To the police?  And what exactly would you tell them?  That I slit some broad's throat before getting pounded to a pulp by a demon and then captured and chained to a concrete pillar in a goddamn basement?  If you did that, you'd have to say how I cut Faith and I doubt you want Sunnydale's finest arresting you and yours for breaking and entering."

            "The police already think it's a mugging.  Turning you in would remove one more deadly criminal from terrorizing the streets of Sunnydale."  Buffy smirked as she turned away from Tyler and walked over to Giles.  "They'd probably give us a medal."

            Tyler yawned.  He leaned his head against the pillar and looked at Buffy and Giles through slitted eyes.  "You want to turn me over to the cops then do it.  At least I'd get to sleep on a cot instead of the fucking floor.  Otherwise, leave me the hell alone."

            A minute of silence passed before Buffy stalked across the room and yanked Tyler to his feet, shoving him back against the concrete pole.  "We turn you into the cops and it'll be for a hell of a lot more than a mugging.  We have you on tape accepting an offer to-"

            "-to videotape you.  Oooh, so I get thrown in the clink for a voyeurism kink."  Tyler laughed as Buffy dropped him, causing him to collide with the floor.  He slowly maneuvered to his feet as he said, "Face it, girlie.  You got nothing.  Hell, you don't even know who's trying to kill you."

            "I think we have a pretty good idea."

            "Yeah, well I think you have **no** idea.  You think you got the inside goods on who wants you dead because you listened to some cassette tape.  For all you know, that tape was planted there for you to find, a bit of misdirection leading you away from the real bad guys."

            "You're lying."

            Tyler shrugged.  "It's possible.  After all, I am a criminal.  Lying comes naturally to me.  I could be trying to distract you from going after Lilah with the possibility of another threat vying for your death.  Or… I could be giving you that vital piece of information you're so desperately seeking."  He grinned, a wicked, feral twisting of his lips.  "Time's running out.  Better figure out who you really should be fighting before it's too late."

*                      *                      *

            He disappeared into the alley, drenched in the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun.  Faith had followed Wesley halfway across Sunnydale, through a cemetery or two, across suburban neighborhoods, and into the back alleys of what constituted downtown Hellmouth.  He hadn't slowed or wavered from his meandering course across the city, but kept a swift and steady pace through the town.  

            Easing her head around the corner, Faith looked down the alley, frowning when she discovered it empty.  The brick walls surrounding the trash covered alleyway were lined with cardboard boxes and dumpsters, plenty of places for Wes to hide if he had discovered her tailing him.  Sliding into the alley, she cautiously made her way over broken bottles and crumpled beer cans, past decomposing pieces of food, by yellowing scraps of newspaper.  There were no doors leading into the nearby buildings, no fire escapes for Wesley to have dashed up to give her the slip.  He had disappeared.

            "Hello, Faith."

            Faith gave herself props for not jumping right out of her skin.  Even with her enhanced Slayer senses outstretched, she hadn't heard him approach.  She brought a sexy, devil may care smirk to her face as she slowly spun and faced Wesley.

            "Wes."

            She wasn't prepared for the changes that had occurred during the three years since she last saw him.  Back then, as he sat tied to the chair, victim to her fucked up mindset and torture therapy, there were still traces of the ineffectual, prissy man who had been her Watcher in Sunnydale.  Now, that man was gone, covered in layer upon layer of hardened scar tissue, both physical and mental, and replaced by the tough, cool, and… sexy exterior of mussed hair and an intense blue gaze.

            "You don't seem surprised to see me here in Sunnydale, Faith."

            "You don't seem surprised to see me out of prison, Wes."

            One corner of his mouth curved into a grin.  "I shouldn't be.  I'm the one that suggested you be released from prison."

            "The man with the motive.  But not with the means."

            "No.  Wolfram and Hart was responsible for arranging the necessary paperwork for your release.  But then, you already knew this, didn't you?"  He walked towards her, blue eyes locked onto her brown, hands plainly in sight next to his thighs.  "Lilah told Buffy."

            "And Buffy told me."  Faith shifted her stance as Wesley approached her, muscles tensing beneath her denim jacket as he stopped before her.  "Sleeping with the enemy, Wes?  Didn't have you figured as the kinky, twisted type, getting off on trying to kill us. I mean, me I can understand given our past history.  But Buffy?  She hasn't done jack to you, so what's with the attempted murder?"

            His gaze was disconcerting in its steadiness, burning into her with a fierce strength Faith never knew Wes possessed.  "Everything is not always as it seems, Faith," he said softly, the cold arrogance in his voice momentarily replaced with a softer, richer cadence.  "They will be waiting for you at the house tonight.  You need to be prepared."

            "What?"  She watched him turn and walk away from her, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark coat.  She took a few steps after him as she said, "Why should I believe you?"

            Wesley stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.  "Who do you think left those pictures of Lilah at Wolfram and Hart for Buffy to find?"  Off her silence, he continued, "You need to get back to the others.  You don't have much time.  It starts tonight."

*                      *                      *


	35. The Calm Before the Storm

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Please see transcripts for _Five by Five (Wes and Faith), _Sleep Tight_ and _Forgiving _(Wes, Angel, and the prophecy) for further info about the above events.  I borrowed "whacked out serial killer" from __Sleeper.  I couldn't resist.  Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.  _

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Calm Before the Storm

By: Wynn

            "Excuse me?  Where do you think you're going?"  Sprinting down the alley, Faith slid in front of Wesley, blocking his escape out of the trash covered passageway.  

            Wes stared at her for a moment, his blue gaze cool and level, before he replied, "I need to get back.  I told you.  There isn't much time.  If I'm gone too long, they will begin to be suspicious."

            "You got yourself tied to a pretty short leash there, Wesley," Faith said as she crossed her arms over her chest.  "Can't even take a walk by yourself without Mama Lilah yanking on the chain and calling you back home like a good little doggie."  She smirked as irritation flickered in his eyes, a minute crack in the cold, emotionless façade he wore like a tarnished suit of armor.  She spoke again before he could compose himself.  "There's something I don't understand, Wes.  You're banging Lilah.  You helped in the fucked up plot to spy on me and B.  You sprung me out of prison with a little help from the demon law firm from hell.  And… you're warning me about the ambush waiting for us at Evil Central.  Something isn't adding up here.  Care to shed a little light on the matter?"

            "And if I don't, what will you do?  Torture me for information?"

            Faith stilled at the mention of torture, her mind flooding with memories of broken glass and home made torches, cotton gags and nylon bindings.  

            "There were five types of torture, correct?" Wesley said his voice flat and his eyes hard.  Only the slight trembling of his fingers betrayed the collected exterior of indifference.  "Blunt, hot, cold, loud, and…"

            "Sharp."  She flinched as he lifted his hand and brushed her dark hair away from her neck exposing the thin white scar stretching across her throat to the hot and humid evening.

            "What happened?"

            Faith snorted, stepping away from Wesley, turning her back to him as she ran a hand over her throat.  "You're telling me Mr. 185 IQ doesn't know his golden boy psycho slit my neck?  Left me for dead?"

            "No."

            "Figured you would've thrown a party, popped a few bottles of champagne.  Maybe you're saving that until the day I **actually die instead of almost but not quite.  You wish hard enough that day just might come."  Shrugging, Faith turned and faced Wesley again.  He stared back at her, face impassive, as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket.  She tilted her head to the side, dark eyes assessing his lean form, as she said, "Maybe Lilah's already getting suspicious of you since she's keeping secrets."**

            "It doesn't matter what Lilah thinks."

            "Really?  I doubt she'd agree with you."  Faith brushed a strand of hair out of her face and said, "You're playing a dangerous game, Wes.  I find out you're playing me, there's still cold, hot, and loud for us to play with."

            He moved towards her, and she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest, her body tensing in anticipation of how he was going to react to her whispered promise of torture. Would he fight back?  Take her down and pound her into the rough, slime coated concrete of the alley?  Maybe he would finish the job Tyler started so he could open that celebratory bottle of champagne, make a toast to the heavens for her demise.

            "I know what it's like," Wesley said softly.  He stood so close to Faith she could feel his breath on her neck, smelling of whiskey and complications, could feel his arm brush against hers, hard and unyielding.  "To feel powerless and helpless.  To feel your life slipping away from you and to know there's nothing you can do to stop it.  I know what it's like to feel scared and to hate yourself for being weak enough to feel scared of death and dying and the possibility that no one would care whether you're dead or alive."

            "I'm not scared," she said, the softness of her voice subverting the bravado of her words.  Faith lifted her chin in the air and stared at Wesley.  "But you should be."

            He smiled, a wry grin stretching his lips.  Stepping around Faith, Wesley walked to the end of the alley and said, "I probably should be."  Without looking back, he turned the corner and disappeared into the sunlight soaked Main Street.

*                      *                      *

            Faith paused as she approached the dining room in the Summers' home, Wesley's warning screaming through her mind.  Was he telling the truth about the ambush waiting at Mulholland?  She couldn't read him, couldn't glean any useful information from his guarded demeanor, and her thoughts were warring within her between the logical belief that he lied to her, that he was playing her, and the instinctual emotion that he was telling the truth, that he was helping for reasons known only to him.  

            She sighed.  Separating the truth from lies was becoming too complicated in the face of contradictory motives, explanations, and information.  Moving to the threshold, Faith peeked into the dining room, her gaze landing on Giles.  She crossed the room, stopping before him as he looked up at her.  Drawing in a deep breath, she said, "Wes is here in Sunnydale.  I think he might be trying to help us."

*                      *                      *

            "He's lying."

            Stifling a sigh, Giles rubbed a hand across his forehead, attempting to ward off the headache rapidly blooming behind his eyes.  Angel's anger regarding Wesley's warning was not unexpected, but there wasn't time for debate or discussion.  They needed to act instead of talking uselessly about past sins and conflicts.  Gaze flickering to Angel, Giles said, "We don't know if Wesley's lying.  We don't know why he's working with Lilah against us, so we have to consider the possibility he's trying to aid us by working with the enemy, especially if he did leave those pictures for you and Buffy to find."

            Angel laid his hand on the counter and leaned close to Giles.  "Wesley's changed.  He's not the same man you used to know."

            "I agree that he has changed and that it is entirely possible he wants us dead.  But we are working with fractured information.  We cannot ignore the possibility he told Faith the truth simply because you do not like the man."

            "It's not that I don't like him-"

            "And you tried to smother him with a pillow out of your love for him?" Buffy asked, one eyebrow arched, arms folded across her chest.  "Cordelia told me what happened between you and Wes.  You tried to kill him while he was lying helpless in the hospital-"

            "He stole my son, Buffy."

            "Wesley took Connor because he wanted to protect him.  From you."  She pushed off the refrigerator and moved over to Giles and Angel.  Leaning against the counter, she continued, "And yeah, he made a colossal mistake.  Prophecies are tricky, all worded in ambiguous language and multiple interpretations.  But the fake ones are the trickiest though.  You knew Wesley didn't know the prophecy was fake, you knew he was trying to help, and you still tried to kill him anyway."

            "He took Connor without an explanation.  I didn't know what to think.  I was angry."

            "You still are.  Your opinion is a bit biased concerning Wesley, and your reservations about what he told Faith are not enough to stop us from investigating this house.  We have no other choice, unless we want to sit and wait for them to try and kill us again."

            "Buffy is right," Giles said.  "If Wesley is lying, we have no way of ascertaining why he's lying and what else he has planned.  So we can either wait or we can fight back and try to discover who is trying to kill us and why."

            "And we still need to check out this house sometime soon given what Willy told you and Spike," Buffy said.  She straightened, her hazel eyes darting from Angel to Giles, before she turned and walked towards the hall.  "And I vote for sooner rather than later."

            Giles spared a glance at Angel, taking in his fisted hands and hunched shoulders, and he sighed.  He moved across the kitchen, crossing into the hallway, and walked through the dining room, into the living room.  He locked eyes with Buffy and nodded once as he leaned back against the wall.  

            From her position before the fireplace, Buffy looked around the crowded living room as she spoke, "We're hitting this place tonight.  Giles, Spike, Angel, Cordelia, Willow, Xander, Faith, and I will stock up on weapons and head over to Mulholland.  Dawn, Connor, Anya, Emilia, Lorne, Clem, Gunn, and Fred will pack up our supplies, all of our books, extra weapons, blankets, food, and the like and move over to Spike's house.  Wesley knows where I live.  It's doubtful he knows where Spike lives.  It's safer over there.  Any questions?"  She paused, waiting a few seconds for someone to speak.  "No?  Good.  Everyone knows what to do.  Time to do it."

*                      *                      *

            Time to do it.  Meaning time to sit and wait, **again, and be left behind, ****again, while everyone else went out to fight.  Not that Anya especially wanted to engage in combat in an ancient, crumbling house, but it was better than packing and moving and worrying.  She may not have been a demon anymore, but she had over a thousand years of experience in all things demonic and mystical.  She was much more suited for combat than Xander,  whose experiences with demons stretched back only seven years, and so what if he saved the entire world by himself?  That only happened once, and it was because his best friend went completely black haired and psychotic.  The yellow crayon speech did not make for a fierce combat fighter.  But was he here, shoving bath towels into boxes?  ****No.  She was.  Again. **

            Shoving the last towel into the box, Anya closed the flaps and placed it next to the rapidly increasing pile of boxed and bagged supplies.  She glanced around the living room once before slipping into the hallway and making her way down to the kitchen.  If she had to do grunt work, she would be compensated with chocolate chip cookies.  And maybe some pickles, too.  Sweet ones, not the funny tasting bread and butter wrinkled cucumbers masquerading as pickles.

            Torn from thoughts of pickles and cookies, Anya paused in the hallway, her eyes narrowing as she heard Emilia's voice drift from the kitchen.  "They've left… About twenty minutes ago."  Sliding against the wall, Anya peeked into the kitchen, golden brown eyes focusing on Emilia, who stood next to the counter, a small cell phone clutched tightly in her hand.  "No, not all of them… Everyone else is moving to-"

            Emilia broke off.  Anya retreated behind the wall, brows drawing together in confusion as she listened to the Elf's conversation.  "Everyone's moving the tables and chairs around, rearranging them among the pool tables.  We're trying to widen the dance floor a bit.  Do you need anything else, Charles?"

            Charles?  Who the hell was Charles?  Anya racked her brain as Emilia finished her phone conversation, brow clearing as she remembered Charles, the big hulking red haired guy who owned the Bronze with Emilia.  But what did moving tables in the Bronze have to do with "they," obviously Faith, Giles, and the rest, who left twenty minutes ago for Mulholland Drive?  Anya shrugged and brought forth a bright, innocent, non-eavesdropping smile.  She didn't know, but she was going to find out.  

            "Hello," she said cheerily as she entered the kitchen.  Crossing the tiled floor, Anya glanced at Emilia, who smoothly slid the cell phone into the pocket of her black satin skirt.  She reached the refrigerator and opened the door, rummaging inside the icebox and emerging with the jar of sweet pickles.  As she opened the jar, she said to Emilia, "Who were you talking to?"

            Emilia blinked at her blunt question, momentarily thrown.  Recovering rapidly, she flashed a small smile at Anya and said, "Just Charles.  We're redecorating the Bronze and he had a few questions about the new placements."

            Anya nodded.  "Really."

            "Yes."

             "So how do you know Rupert?"

            "Excuse me?"

            Munching on the pickle held in her hand, Anya said, "Rupert.  Giles.  Ruggedly handsome ex-Watcher with a split Ripper personality.  The man you have some sort of mysterious history with.  How do you know him?"

            Emilia stared at her, and Anya wondered if the Elf was using her telepathic powers to scan her mind.  She bought forth images of her more gruesome works of vengeance, mental pictures of blood, gore, and screams, and she smiled as Emilia flinched slightly and ran a hand over her long silver locks.

            "Something wrong?"

            Shaking her head, Emilia said, "No.  I just have a bit of a headache."

            "So how do you know Giles?"

            "Why do you ask?"

            Anya shrugged.  She replaced the lid on the pickle jar and set it on the counter.  "Natural curiosity.  Well, that and Rupert trusts you even though he hasn't seen or heard from you in twenty years.  For all we know, you could be some whacked out serial killer carefully manipulating us until the moment you can enact your gruesome but intricately plotted murderous ambitions."

            Blinking once, Emilia cleared her throat and said, "Um, I'm not whacked out or a serial killer."

            "That's reassuring."  Anya paused and examined Emilia for a few intense moments.  "Of course if you really are a whacked out serial killer you would probably lie about it and then kill me so I wouldn't reveal your secret of being a serial killer."  She smiled, moved to the sink, and turned on the faucet, placing her hands under the warm water to clean off the pickle juice.  She glanced out the window, the shadows of the evening deepening and darkening in the advancing night, and she frowned as one of the shadows began to move.

*                      *                      *

            The night was quiet and dark.  Eerily so with the quietness and darkness reaching supernatural proportions, sending shivers of apprehension down all spines.  There was no movement or light at the targeted house on Mulholland Drive, making slivers of suspicion slither through Buffy.  She adjusted her grip on her crossbow and turned back to the group assembled behind her.

            "All's quiet on the evil front," she said, hazarding another glance at the house over her shoulder.  "No mystical barriers up or any other cloaking spells.  And technically no one is living at the house, so Angel and Spike should be able to enter.  So Angel, Cordelia, Faith, and Xander swing around and approach from the back, aiming for the back door.  Giles, Willow, Spike, and I will enter from the front.  Be on alert.  If this is a trap, then they're waiting for us inside, armed and ready.  We'll search all rooms for potential baddies before looking for information, Ok?"  

            Off of their nods, Buffy turned back towards the house.  Nothing had changed.  No lights.  No movement.  Nothing.  Buffy suppressed a shiver and said, "Here we go."  She eased out of the shadows, soundlessly sprinting across the cracked asphalt of Mulholland Drive, and made her way across the dry grass lining the gravel path stretching from the sidewalk to the front porch. Flattening against the brick wall of the house, Buffy turned and locked eyes with Spike.  "Ready?"

            "Always, luv."

            "Time to kick a little lawyer ass."  Sliding away from the wall, Buffy climbed the concrete stairs of the porch, eyes darting to the darkened windows.  Through the shadows, she could make out the rough surface of plywood covering the dirty glass.  Moving to the door, she grasped the handle and carefully twisted the knob.  It turned smoothly in its casing, and she slowly opened the door.  

            The interior of the house was pitch black, and the air was stale and smelled faintly of ammonia cleaning products.  Glancing behind the door, Buffy moved inside, indicating for Spike, Giles, and Willow to follow.  She eased the door closed and followed Willow further into the house, senses outstretched for any suspicious sight, sound, or smell and finding none.  Buffy stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand on their ends.  Something wasn't right.  There was no one inside the house.  "Guys…"

            She heard Spike sigh.  "There's no one here-"

            Blinding white light flooded the narrow hall, assaulting Buffy's eyes and forcing them closed.  Metal clinks began to sound through the house and Buffy whirled towards the door.  Steel bars dropped down from the ceiling, covering the door and windows, blocking the way in or out of the house.  They were trapped, locked inside the empty, barren brick house.

*                      *                      *

            Taking a deep breath, Dawn started across the dining room, taking a few hesitant steps before she quickly backtracked to the safety of the Connor-less living room.  He hadn't spoken to her since his arrival the day before.  The memory of his lopsided grin flashed in her mind, and she felt the butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach.  Crushing on the spawn of Angel was wig worthy of the highest order.  Connor was broody and sullen and less than monosyllabic, but his chocolate eyes were soft when they looked at her, causing her to go all gooey and mushy on the inside.  

            She peeked into the dining room again, jumping when she came face to face with said goo and mush causer.  Dawn felt a blush creep up her neck, staining her cheeks, as she stammered, "Hi.  Connor.  I didn't, um, see you, uh, you know, standing there."

            The crooked grin was back.  "Sorry."  His dark eyes dropped down to her hand, focusing on the two leather bound books held between her fingers.  A faint frown pulled at his brows and he glanced at her from beneath impossibly long black lashes.  "I can… do you… the books…"

            Dawn stifled a nervous giggle.  She lifted the books and handed them to Connor, watching as he spun, stalked back into the dining room, and deposited the books into one of the boxes covering the table.  Stepping into the room, she racked her brain for something cool to say, something coherent and non-dorky.  "So… Angel's your dad?"

            A dark look crossed Connor's face.  "He is not my father," he said as he shoved more books into the cardboard box.

            "I wouldn't admit to it either.  He's just too embarrassing for words."

            Connor looked at her from the corners of his eyes.  "You don't like him?"

            Dawn shrugged.  "Angel's Ok.  Kind of dorky.  It's, like, my job to hate him since he practically screwed up my sister for life."

            "What did he do?"

            "Major emotional trauma.  Heartbreak.  Loss.  More trauma.  For a while I thought she would be emotionally scarred for life, but Spike's pulling her out of the land of Angel angst."       

            "Oh."  He paused, his eyes locked onto the books stacked in the box before him.  "Your sister… She's… strong."

            "Super strong with a tendency to be a super-bitch."  Dawn rolled her eyes at the mention of her sister's infamous bitchiness.  "She means well though, even if she is a little overprotective-"

            Dawn screamed as the lights cut off and the windows exploded, glass flinging across the dining room, sharp shards slicing her exposed skin.  She looked towards the window, eyes widening at the sight of the men surrounding her house, rapidly advancing towards the front door.

*                      *                      *


	36. When It Rains, It Pours

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: This chapter's a bit shorter than usual, but its action packed.  I hope everyone enjoys.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.

Chapter Thirty-Six: When It Rains, It Pours

By: Wynn

            The clang of the steel bars echoed through the empty, antiseptic tinged house, ringing in Willow's ears with a finality that sent shivers of foreboding along her spine.  The air surrounding the bars and the house tingled with traces of magic.  They were trapped, both physically and magically.  Wesley was telling the truth in that Lilah and the rest had been waiting for them to arrive.  But it hadn't been to keep them out of the house and to keep them away from any potentially incriminating evidence.  It had been to lock them in their own personal prison and then kill them.

            "Shit."  Buffy moved over to the bar covered window, peeking through the steel, wood, and dirty glass at Mulholland Drive.  "We've got company."

            "How many?" Spike asked.

            "I can't tell.  It's too dark.  Fifteen, twenty.  Maybe more."  She swore again, pushing away from the window to pace the front foyer of the house.  "We're just sitting ducks in here.  Spike, Giles, find the others.  See if there's a way out of this place."

            Spike nodded, blue eyes locked on Buffy.  "Stay safe."

            "I will."

            He nodded again, gaze darting briefly to Willow before he turned and walked down the hall with Giles.  Willow watched the two disappear around the corner.  Turning to Buffy, she said, "They used magic on the house.  On the bars.  I think I can break it and get us out of here."

            Buffy remained silent as she stared at Willow, teeth gently worrying her bottom lip.  She glanced at the bars then back at Willow and said, "Are you sure?"

            "Yeah.  It's a pretty powerful spell, but I think I can get around it."  

            "We could wait.  See if there's another way out-"

            Sounds of fighting cut off Buffy's hesitant reply.  Willow turned towards the back half of the house, her eyes widening as Spike and an unknown man came crashing down the hall.  As he jumped to his feet, Spike dodged a blow from the man and said, "They're coming in from the back, luv.  Trying to pin us in one corner of the house.  Make us easy pickings."  

            Willow took a step towards Buffy and laid a hand on her arm.  "I can do this, Buffy."

            A few seconds passed as Buffy gazed at Willow, hazel eyes searching her face.  Sighing softly, Buffy nodded and said, "Go work your mojo."  She squeezed Willow's hand before moving down the hall to join the fight.

            Willow drew in a deep breath and faced the steel covered front door.  "Work my mojo," she said softly as she closed her eyes, opening her consciousness to the primal energy suffusing the world.  Her breathing increased as the magic flowed through her, lighting her from within with an ancient, feral fire.  She reached out with her hand, palm tingling from the energy waves enveloping the front door.  The magic pushed against her, and she trembled as she drew strength from the earth, focusing it through her veins, muscles, and bones, and directing it at the door.  Her physical senses deadened, the sounds of combat, of raised voices and dull blows, vanishing from her awareness, as her mind opened to higher planes of existence.  Body trembling, Willow's eyes flew open, revealing inky black irises.  Her hand latched onto one of the bars, and the house shook from the battle of magicks.  A raw scream was torn from her throat as the front wall exploded out, ripping away from her hand and the brick house, sending loose plaster, wood, and bricks tumbling down onto her.

*                      *                      *

            They came in from the back, striking the same time the house flooded with brilliant white light.  Before anyone could attack, they threw Xander against the wall, his head connecting roughly with the concrete and plaster, body crumpling into unconsciousness.  Dark eyes narrowing at the trickle of blood sliding across Xander's forehead, Faith turned towards the men and launched into battle.  

              From the corners of her eyes, she could see Angel and Cordelia fighting, barely holding their own against the ever increasing forces.  Faith grunted as her opponent's fist smashed into her stomach, followed by a blow to her temple.  She reeled back, slamming against the wall and bouncing off the pristine plaster.  She aimed a kick for the burly man's head, and her boot connected with his face, sending him stumbling back against another man.  As the two fell to the floor, Faith spun and blocked a kick from a third man, latching onto his foot and throwing him across the room, where he landed before Spike and Giles.

            "Where's B?"

            Giles dodged a punch from the third man, who stumbled into Spike, sending both sailing down the hallway towards the front of the house.  "With Willow trying to create a way out."

            "We trapped in here?"

            "Yes."

            "Thought so."  

            As Giles fought against another attacker, Faith spun and faced the two men who had untangled themselves and stood from the floor.  The one on the right was tall, stretching over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick biceps.  The second was shorter and stockier with a bruise decorating his face from her kick.  They glanced at each other and then at Faith.  Her eyes darted between the two men as she shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for them to make their move against her.  The tall one charged, catching Faith around the middle.  She groaned as she collided with the wall, the back of her head smacking against the concrete, bursts of black coloring her vision.  Large calloused hands pinned her against the wall, bruising strength digging into her arms, and she panicked as memories from her past came rushing back to her.  Reacting on instinct, Faith screamed and kicked again, her foot slamming into her attacker's stomach.  He flew across the room and crashed into a steel covered window, falling to the floor.  Breathing erratic, Faith blinked a few times, trying to clear her cloudy vision.  She stiffened as she felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against her temple.  Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the short, stocky man standing beside her, gun grasped tightly in his hand.

            "Time's up, Slayer."

            Faith winced as the click of the hammer echoed in her ears.  So this was it.  Taken out by a thug with a gun.  The end of Faith contained in one tiny metal bullet.  Wesley must have been real serious about wanting that celebratory bottle of champagne if he allowed the use of firearms in this game he was playing.  She couldn't blame him though, not after all she had done to him.

            She jumped as a dark blur streaked past her, tackling the stocky man, sending his gunshot high above her head.  Plaster rained down on Faith as she turned and looked at her savior.

            It was Wesley.

            She struggled to her feet as the two men grappled on the floor.  Wesley ripped the gun out of the man's hands and smashed the butt against his temple twice, knocking him unconscious.  Shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans, Wesley stood and walked over to Faith, tilting her chin in the air as he inspected her face.  His fingers traveled to the back of her head, and she winced as they brushed against the knot formed by her close encounter with the wall.

            "Quite a knot there," he murmured, azure eyes intent on her face.  "I suspect you'll have a concussion.  How-"

            "What the hell are you doing here?" Faith asked as she jerked her head out of his hands.  

            "Saving your ass apparently."

            "I-"  The house shook, windows and steel rattling against each other.  The floorboards shifted and Faith stumbled as the world swayed around her.  Wesley reached out, his hands grasping her arms, holding her upright as the tremors died around them.  His hands were warm on her arms; his palms were rough with scars and calluses.  Faith broke contact between them and took a few steps backward, her dark eyes large and wary and locked on Wesley.  "What are you doing here?" she asked her voice hard in her mind but soft in her mouth.

            "Saving you," he said.  Wesley opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off as he was slammed against the wall by Angel.  Wrapping one of his hands around Wesley's throat, Angel said, "Wesley.  So nice of you to show.  I think I'll kill you now."

*                      *                      *

            Stepping around the broken glass, Connor moved over to Dawn.  Blood oozed down her face from a gash across her cheek, and shallow cuts lined her bare arms from the explosion of the dining room windows.

            "Are you alright?"

            Blue eyes wide with fear and shock, Dawn nodded.  She sucked in a shaky breath, and her gaze flickered over his shoulder.  Connor spun and punched the man behind him.  As he sunk to the floor, Connor looked at the smashed front door; more men streamed into the house, half of them entering the living room, fighting against Gunn, Lorne, Fred, and Clem, while the other half moved into the dining room, eyes trained on himself and Dawn.  Connor eased Dawn behind him, backing her in one corner of room, as he faced off against the four men spreading throughout the room.  

            Four on one.  Connor smirked.  They really had no clue who they were dealing with.  If they had, they would have sent more men.

            Connor shot forward, grabbing one of the chairs circling the oak dining table and hurling it towards the man on his right.  The chair collided with the man, eliciting a harsh moan and causing him to stagger into the wall.  Connor stepped back as a second man moved forward, his attention drawn to the advancing attacker.  He hissed in pain as the oak table slammed into him, forcing him to his knees as the wood collapsed around him.  Connor heard Dawn scream again as he shoved the table pieces off him, and he jumped to his feet as a bruised and bloodied man with shackles attached to his wrists punched Dawn in the face.  As she crumpled onto the floor, Connor felt a slight prick in his neck.  He swung his arm, knocking one of the four men to the ground, the hypodermic needle sticking in his neck clattering to the floor.  

            "Good work, boys," the beaten man said.  As the room began to spin around him, Connor recalled what the others had said this man's name was.  Tyler.  He fell to his knees again as the man continued, "Grab the girl and the kid and get them out of here.  Boss doesn't like to be kept waiting."  That was the last Connor heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

*                      *                      *

            "Willow!"  Buffy sprinted down the hall, boots skidding along the dirty floor as she slid to a stop beside the rubble covering Willow.  Her gaze briefly flickered to the missing wall and she shook her head before she re-focused on Willow.  It had been too much too soon.  No one knew what Willow was capable of, if she could control her power or if the magic still controlled her.  One simple healing spell did not signify a complete recovery from the misuse of magic.  Buffy shouldn't have let her try to break the spell.  They would have found another way out of the house.

            Heart racing, Buffy clawed at the rubble, pushing it off the prone form of her best friend.  Willow coughed as billowing clouds of dirt and dust formed in the air, and she shook her head to clear off the fine layer of paint and plaster that clung to her skin.  She looked at the jagged edges of the ceiling that formerly attached the front wall to the house, and a faint smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Willow, one.  House, nothing."

            Giggling in relief, Buffy said, "Mere steel and bricks are no match for the mighty Willow."

            "No, but I think the dust is."  Coughing again, Willow stood, leaning on Buffy as the rubble shifted beneath her feet.  "Killer dust clouds are more evil than pollen.  But at least we have a way out."

            "Yes.  We do have a way out."  Buffy glanced out of the house towards Mulholland Drive.  A man was sprinting up the gravel path stretching from the sidewalk to the area formerly known as the porch, and Buffy's eyes widened as she recognized the rapidly approaching figure.  Tall, burly, long red hair.  Charles.  Emilia's business partner and co-owner of the Bronze.  

            Opening her mouth to speak, Buffy froze as she saw the gun clutched in his hand.  He lifted his arm and pointed the gun at her and Willow.

            "Get down," he said, his voice rough and husky.

            Grabbing Willow, Buffy dove to the side as the gunshot exploded through the air.  Sliding across the ground, Buffy rolled to her feet, eyes darting between Charles and the prone figure of the man who had been silently approaching her and Willow.  A curved dagger lay beside his slack hand.  She hadn't sensed him.  If Charles hadn't been there, the man could have killed her.  But why was he here?  

            Turning to Charles, Buffy said, "Who are you?"

            Climbing into the house, he extended a hand down to Willow, helping her to her feet once more.  He glanced at Buffy, the timbre of his voice changing from a low huskiness to a softer refined British accent as he said, "My name is Samuel.  Charles Samuel."

*                      *                      *

            "What did you do?"  Anya grabbed Emilia and shoved her against the refrigerator.  Fighting raged in the other rooms of the Summers house, but none of the action had extended back into the kitchen.  Anya knew the fighting was associated with the moving shadows she had seen through the kitchen window, and she knew all of this was connected in some way to Emilia and her mysterious phone conversation.  Body tense with anger, Anya leaned into Emilia, her golden brown eyes hard and shining with rage.  "Who did you call?"

            Violet eyes wide, Emilia swallowed.  She looked from Anya to the closed kitchen door.  Her body shook with soft trembles.  "I…"

            "What did you do?!"  Anya slammed her hand against the refrigerator, inches away from Emilia's head.  They had trusted her.  Giles had trusted her.  And she betrayed them.  Voice steely, Anya said, "I heard you on your phone.  Talking about how Faith and Giles and Buffy left twenty minutes ago.  Who were you talking to?"

            "I…"

            "Answer me!"

            Her lavender eyes locked on the kitchen door, the color drained from Emilia's face as she whispered, "Get out of the house."  

            "No.  Not until you tell me what-"

            '_Get out of the house!  NOW!'_

Anya cringed at Emilia's psychic cry, pain shooting through her as the Elf's voice pierced her mind.  Locking eyes with the other woman, she gasped as Emilia slumped against the refrigerator, her eyes rolling back into her head as she lost consciousness.  Grasping her underneath her arms, Anya drug Emilia towards the back door, kicking it open and stumbling into the backyard.  Halfway across the yard, her strength gave way, and both Anya and Emilia fell to the ground as the Summers' house exploded into a ball of crackling orange and red flames.  

*                      *                      *


	37. Revelations

Title: Enemy Incognito   

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Many thanks to SpikeLover7.  My sanity regarding this story would not have remained intact if not for your excellent beat-ing.  And many thanks to everyone who has reviewed.  I treasure every piece of feedback I receive, so please keep them coming.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Revelations

By: Wynn

            He didn't notice the fighting stop around him.  He didn't notice the gunshot from the front of the house, or the tense quiet that descended upon the building, or the stares from the other people in the room.  All Angel noticed was the man before him, held against the wall by one hand, calmly staring back at him, blue eyes absent of fear.

            "You've got a lot of nerve, Wesley," Angel said, his voice light, contradicting the dark expression upon his face.  "You **know we're coming here tonight, you ****know we know you're involved in all of the attacks, yet you **still** come here.  That has to be the second stupidest thing you've ever done, right after kidnapping my son."**

            "I was-"

            "Shut up."  He tightened his grip on Wesley's throat, cutting off his reply, as he said, "I don't want to hear anything you have to say.  You fucked up when you decided to come after Buffy and Faith.  It'll be the last mistake you ever make."

            "Let him go, Angel."

            "Stay out of this, Faith.  This doesn't concern you."

            "Um… hello.  You just said Wes fucked up when he came after **me** and B.  I think this concerns me a lot."  Angel heard her move across the room.  She leaned against the wall next to Wesley, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at him, her face impassive, eyes dark and deep with unknown emotions.  "Let him go, Angel."

            "No."

            "Let him go or I'll make you let him go."

            Eyes flickering to Faith, Angel said, "Look, Faith, I know you think he's on our side, secretly helping us fight against Lilah and the rest.  He's not.  He's playing you, trying to gain your confidence by giving you a so-called warning about an ambush he probably planned.  He's going to use you to get what he wants and then drop you, if he just doesn't decide to kill you."

              Faith shook her head.  "You're wrong about this."

            "Why would he come to you and give you this information?  You tortured him.  He hates you."

            "No doubt about that.  But that doesn't mean he's working with Lilah and Tyler.  And if I'm wrong, if Wesley's playing us and really wants us all dead, then you can kill him.  Hell, I'll probably help you.  But we need to find out for sure, and we can't do that if you crush his windpipe."

            A few moments passed and then Angel slowly removed his hand from Wesley's neck.  He took a few steps back as Wesley sucked in air and rubbed a hand across his reddened throat.

            "You Ok?" Faith asked.

            Wincing in pain, Wesley nodded.  "Yes.  Thank-"

            Faith held up her hand.  "Don't thank me," she said, moving away from Angel and Wesley and walking towards the front of the house.  "Just tell the truth.  I'm tired of all the lies."  

            Angel watched her disappear down the hallway connecting the front and back halves of the house.  He turned back to Wesley and found the other man staring at the hall Faith had walked in.  Folding his arms across his chest, Angel said, "I don't know what game you're playing, Wes, but stay away from Faith.  She doesn't need your lies and manipulations."

            A ghost of a smile appeared on Wesley's face as he looked at Angel.  "Contrary to your poor opinion of me, Angel, I am not out to 'get' anybody, especially Faith."

            "Really?  The last time you saw Faith you said she was a rabid animal and a murderer.  Now, you're having secret conversations with her and saving her from being killed.  You want to tell me what caused this change in attitude?"

              "Not really.  You just tried to kill me.  For the second time, I might add.  I don't feel up to sharing anything with you right now."  Wesley pushed off the wall and walked around Angel.  He moved into the hallway and followed Faith towards the front of the house.

*                      *                      *

            Being the Slayer meant dealing directly with phenomena like fate and destiny every single day.  Everything, from the smallest of details in life to the most massive of apocalypses, was planned, prophesized, or predicted by somebody somewhere.  There were still times, however, when life shocked the hell out of Buffy Summers.  This was about to become one of them.

            "You're who?" she asked, confusion pulling her brows together.

            "Charles Samuel."  

             "Samuel," Willow said slowly.  "As in the Samuel working with Lilah, Wesley, and Tyler trying to kill us all?"

            "Yes."

            Nodding softly, Buffy said, "Of course.  Massive murderous conspiracies always need people with false identities, so why should this one be any different?"  Sighing, she rubbed a hand across her face, stifling the half-maniacal giggle that threatened to burst from her lips.  This was making all kinds of sense.  The man she had on cassette tape plotting against her and her friends was the man who had just saved her life.  Of course the sense it was making was perfectly senseless, but she expected nothing else to occur in her life.

            She turned as Spike and Giles entered the room.  Spike took a few steps towards her and stopped, glancing at Charles then at the dead man with the curved knife before locking eyes with Buffy.  Raising one eyebrow, he said, "Did anyone else notice how all the fighting just stopped?  And what the hell is he doing here?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "I don't know why the fighting stopped.  But it probably has something to do with head cheese over here."  Off of Spike and Giles' confused looks, she pointed to Charles and said, "Guys, meet Charles Samuel.  As in the Samuel we have on cassette tape hiring Tyler to spy on us." 

            Giles blinked once at Buffy's declaration.  He looked at Charles, confusion, anger, and wariness all fighting for dominance on his face.  "You were the unknown man on the tape?  I didn't recognize your voice."

            "I doubt you would have," Charles said as he tucked his gun into his shoulder holster.  "It's been twenty years since we last spoke.  And back then I spoke with a rougher accent than the one you no doubt heard on this tape of yours."  Glancing over Giles' shoulder, he spoke again.  "Wesley.  Is everything clear back there?"

            Buffy spun towards the hallway and she watched Wesley and Faith enter the room, followed by Cordelia and Angel, who carried an unconscious Xander.  

             "Xander!"  Willow ran over to Angel, looking down at Xander as she said, "What happened?"

            Cordelia answered her.  "He got up close and personal with the wall courtesy of the goon squad that just stopped attacking us.  He'll be fine.  He'll just have the mother of all headaches when he wakes up."

            Drawing in a deep breath, Buffy turned to Wesley.  She arched an eyebrow at the redness coloring his throat before she said, "So you've decided to join the party, too.  Is Lilah in the back somewhere, ready to burst out and yell surprise, or has she decided to skip the fraternizing with your enemy shindig?"

            "Lilah will not be coming here.  We've had a… difference of opinion."

            "Concerning what exactly?"

            Blue eyes examining the destroyed front wall, Wesley said, "Maybe we should continue this discussion at a safer location.  I don't know exactly what they have planned, and I'd rather not be here in case they come back."

            "What who have planned?" Giles asked.

            Wesley looked at Charles, who shook his head and pointed a finger in his direction.  Sighing, Wesley ran a hand over his disheveled hair and said, "What Lilah Morgan and Quentin Travers have planned."

*                      *                      *

            She was in pain.  Massive amounts of pain.  Her fractured wrist throbbed with pain from where she had fallen upon it as she collapsed onto the floor in unconsciousness, and the entire left side of her head buzzed with pain thanks to Tyler and his wicked right hook.  Her left eye was swollen shut and congealed blood was caked across her cheek.  She was blood-soaked, pain-filled, and pissed off.  Someone was going to die.

            Cracking open her right eye, Dawn looked at her surroundings, heart beating faster as she realized she was seated in an airplane.  A flying airplane.  An airplane taking her somewhere other than Sunnydale.  Crap.  The seat opposite her was occupied, and she groaned as she recognized the pompous air, balding head, and tweed suit of Quentin Travers, the bane of her sister's existence.  

            "I'm pleased you're awake," Travers said when he noticed her staring at him.  "I was afraid Tyler had been too rough with you."  

            "Bite me."  A tight smile appeared on his face at her colorful language, and Dawn cheered at his irritation.  The man had a superiority complex so thoroughly developed he thought he was supreme lord of the world, reigning from his stuffed tweed chair in jolly old England, sipping tea and eating crumpets as he directed his Watcher minions around to protect the world from the evils of musty, old books.  Straightening in her chair, Dawn pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin in the air.  "Buffy will come for me.  It doesn't matter where you take me.  She'll find me."

            His irritation melted away, replaced by a chilling smile that sent shivers of fear down Dawn's spine.  "That's the idea, Ms. Summers.  That's the idea."

*                      *                      *

            Faith laughed.  She couldn't help it.  Maybe it was a byproduct of the swollen knot on the back of her head, of the concussion Wesley proclaimed her to have, but she figured her laughter was mostly due to the shocked expressions upon everyone's faces from the revelation that Quentin Travers was the man behind the plan.  So the Watcher's Council was trying to kill her again.  Figured.

            "Something funny, Faith?" Buffy asked, her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

            "Not really, B.  But that's what makes it so damn funny."  She shook her head as she composed herself, her laughter dying away into an exhausted sigh.  "As if our lives aren't dangerous enough being Slayers, constantly fighting demons and other uglies, and now we got to worry about Head Jeeves wanting our heads on a silver platter.  He's supposed to help us fight the good fight and all that shit.  Guess he got tired of the good fight."

            "That's not true," Wesley said from behind her.

            Turning to face him, she said, "No?  Then what is the truth, Watcher man?"

            "Travers wants to fight the good fight, as you put it.  However, he doesn't want you or Buffy or anyone else working with you to fight it with him."

            "What?"

            Buffy snorted in disbelief.  "What he means is Travers wants replacement Slayers.  Isn't that right, Wesley?"

            "Yes."  The house rumbled in its foundation and chunks of plaster, slabs of wood, and sections of concrete tumbled loose from the jagged outline of the front wall.  As the tremors faded, Wesley said, "We should continue this discussion in a safer location."

            Buffy nodded.  "I agree."  Turning to Giles, she said, "Can you head to the house and make sure everyone made it to Spike's safely?  I-"

            "I don't think that'll be necessary, B," Faith said as she ran out of the crumbling house.  At the edge of the gravel path stood Anya, covered with ash and soot and dirt.  Through the black smudges streaked across her face, Faith saw the pale pallor of Anya's skin and her shell shocked golden eyes.  "What happened?"

            "Where's Buffy?  I need to… talk to her."

            Faith glanced over her shoulder, dark eyes locking on Buffy as she approached the two women.  Hazel gaze flickering to Faith and then Anya, Buffy said, "Anya, what happened?"

            Anya sucked in a shaky breath before she spoke, "We were… attacked at the house.  They took Dawn.  And Connor, too.  Tyler's escaped.  He left with the men who took Dawn and Connor.  Emilia's a traitor."  She paused and drew in another breath.  "And your house… it's gone."

            "What?  What do you mean gone?"

            "Gone.  They blew it up.  It's a big ball of orange flames right now.  Everything you own is burning to a crisp."

            "Oh."  Buffy nodded slowly.  She moved away from Anya and Faith, stumbling over a pile of debris from the displaced front wall and nearly falling to the ground; she was caught at the last moment by Spike who gently helped her regain her footing.  Looking up at him, her hazel eyes wide with confusion, Buffy said, "He blew up my house."

            Faith felt the rage begin to course through her veins as she watched Buffy and Anya, the two strongest women she knew, shake and shiver from shock.  Eyes locked onto her clenched fists, she asked Anya, "Was anyone hurt?"

            "Emilia got everyone out.  She used her psychic abilities and emitted a mental emergency call in all of our heads.  She's still unconscious though.  Fred and Gunn were taken to the hospital.  The force of the explosion knocked them across the yard and Fred broke her arm.  Gunn suffered some burns and fractured his hand."

            "What about Lorne and Clem?"

            "They have some burns and bruises.  Nothing too serious though.  They took Emilia to Spike's house."

             Silent, Faith turned, her dark eyes slowly scanning the faces of the front yard, gaze narrowing as she spotted Wesley.  She stalked across the yard, shoving Charles out of her way, and she kicked Wesley's legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.  "Did you know about this?" she asked as he struggled to his feet.  Faith kicked him in the chest and he fell to the ground again.  "Did you know what Travers was going to do?"

            Wesley stared up at her, his calm demeanor making her blood boil in irritation.  "I didn't know," he said quietly.  "I would have stopped Travers if I had known about this.  I had nothing to do with taking Dawn and Connor or destroying Buffy's home.  Neither did Charles."  He pushed off the ground and slowly stood, eyes watching Faith, waiting for her to attack him again.  "I will explain everything but not here.  We need to get someplace safe."

            "Fine."  She grabbed Wesley by his shirt and shoved him down the gravel path.  Walking behind him, keeping him within her sights at all times, Faith said to the group, "We're moving to Spike's house.  Now.  I want to know what the hell is going on."

*                      *                      *

            Red and white emergency lights flashed, casting an eerie glow upon the suburban houses lining Revello Drive.  A blackened charred husk was all that remained of the Summers home, and a jolt of undiluted fury swept through Spike at the sight of the obliterated building.  Nothing was salvageable.  Everything was a pile of smoking ashes, a lifetime's worth of memories now dust in the wind.

            He found Buffy a block from her house, hazel eyes dull as she stared at the firefighters, policeman, and bystanders gawking at what was left of 1630 Revello Drive.  As the group had filed into his house, she had turned and jumped off the porch, streaking across the cemetery in the direction of Revello.  She didn't acknowledge his approach and continued staring at the burnt shell of her home.  

            "He took her away from me," she said, voice low and hollow.  "Took away all I had left of her.  There's nothing…"

            Spike slid his hand into the pocket of his black jacket and removed a small photograph.  He gazed down at the three women in the picture, each one tearing down all that was wrong about him and rebuilding it with their strength and love and sheer determination to turn him into something better than what fate wanted him to be.  He passed the picture to Buffy and said, "Nibblet gave it to me summer you were gone.  She didn't want me to be all alone in my crypt, so she put it in a frame, gave it to me as a present.  First time anyone had given me a gift since I became a vampire.  I still have the frame if you want it.  I just always carried the photo around with me.  Didn't need the frame so much."

            She brushed her finger against the smiling image of Joyce, the photograph shaking in her trembling hands.  Crystalline drops of tears fell onto the picture as her thumb skated across the smirking figure of Dawn.  Spike moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing his cheek to the top of her head.  She leaned against him for a moment before turning in his arms and resting her head on his chest, her hot tears soaking into his black cotton t-shirt.  

            "He took her away from me," Buffy said again, and Spike didn't know whether she meant Joyce or Dawn, whether she knew if she meant Joyce or Dawn or both women.  She pulled away from him, linking one of her hands with his as she turned and looked at the remnants of her home, the red and white of the emergency lights flashing upon her skin.  "He took her away.  That was a mistake."

*                      *                      *


	38. Nothing but the Truth

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics designate flashback.  For a refresher on Giles/Emilia, please see chapters 23, 24, and 31.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Nothing but the Truth

By: Wynn

            Despite the peeling paint, dirt encrusted windows, and gloomy locale of the surrounding cemetery and forest, Spike's house was surprisingly neat and comfortable.  Although Wesley shouldn't have been surprised at the neatness; Angel had mastered the art of obsessively compulsive cleanliness, so it shouldn't have been much of a stretch to think the second vampire with a soul in existence would have a penchant for the neat and tidy too. 

            A massive marble fireplace dominated the living room, shedding a cozy orange glow upon the hardwood floor and the sparse furniture, which included two faded armchairs, a low glass coffee table, and a thin gold floor lamp.  Opposite the fireplace resided a tall oak bookcase, half filled with books on witchcraft, demons, and other otherworldly subjects, dotted occasionally with a few volumes of poetry and literature.  Wesley raised an eyebrow as his eyes searched the spines, tracing over works by Milton, Dickens, Tennyson, and Shakespeare, among others.  

            "Not quite what you expected?"

            Glancing at Spike, Wesley shook his head.  "No.  First editions of Dickens and Tennyson are rare."

            Smirking, Spike said, "Not if you happened to be around at the time of their publication.  I used to have more, but I lost them.  Or destroyed them.  Carting around volumes of literature tends to interfere in one hundred years of mayhem and slaughter."

            "Yes, I imagine it would."  Glancing around the living room, Wesley said, "Your house… It's… nice."

            Spike shrugged.  "It's a start.  Haven't had much time to decorate the place.  Been too busy dealing with attempted slayings and the like."

            "Not too busy, I should think."

            "What do you mean by that?"

            It was Wesley's turn to shrug.  "The forces sent after you were by no means the strongest any of you have faced."

            Cocking an eyebrow, Spike said, "So you're saying you and Head Tweed didn't want us dead?"

            "He did.  And he still does, which is probably why he's taken Dawn and Connor."

            "But-"  Whatever question lay poised on Spike's lips remained dormant as Buffy strode into the living room, followed by Giles, Faith, Angel, Cordelia, Anya, Willow, and Charles.  Approaching Wesley, Buffy pointed to one of the armchairs and said, "Sit."  He didn't move, remaining where he stood by the bookcase and calmly gazing back at Buffy.  She placed her hands on her hips as she said, "Are you waiting for me to say please?"

            "No."

            "Then sit down.  I want to know how you got involved with Quentin, and I want to know now."

            Stifling a sigh, Wesley moved to the armchair and sat down.  He felt as though he were set up before a firing squad with twitchy trigger fingers.  One wrong word, one wrong movement, and he would be a dead man.  He brushed away the thoughts of his imminent demise; dwelling on his potential death would do him no good in this volatile situation.    

            "Any day now, Wesley."

            His gaze slid over to Faith, who stood before the fireplace off to his right.  Her dark hair gleamed in the amber glow, auburn highlights illuminated by the flames; her ruby lips, curved into a feral smile, shone from the light shed by the crackling blaze.  "What would you like to know first?" he asked her.

            "How about why Travers wants us dead."  

            Wesley nodded, drew in a deep breath, and began his tale of secrets and lies.  "Buffy was correct when she stated Travers wants replacement Slayers.  He feels that Buffy has lapsed in her duties as a Slayer and is no longer a fit guardian for the Hellmouth.  And he's always wanted Faith dead, ever since her alliance with The Mayor of Sunnydale.  "

            "Travers thinks I've lapsed in my duties?"  Buffy snorted as she shook her head in disbelief.  "Does he know how many times I've saved this world from complete destruction?"

            "Yes, he does.  And he also knows that the last threat to this world did not come from a vampire or demon or any other demonic force."  Wesley looked at Willow as he said, "The threat came from within those assigned to protect it."  Turning his attention back to Buffy, he continued, "You spent a great deal of last year fighting against each other and dealing with your own traumas instead of protecting the Hellmouth.  According to Travers, you've lost your focus as a Slayer and therefore you've lost your usefulness to him.  He thinks you and your friends have become a liability to the fight against evil and are inadequate protectors of the Hellmouth."

            Giles spoke up.  "And how exactly does Travers know what occurred last year?  I thought after his last visit to impart information about Glory he decreased his attention on the Hellmouth."

            Shaking his head, Wesley said, "He never lessened his attention on the Hellmouth.  If anything, after Glory's appearance he increased his informational sources here in Sunnydale.  He just chose not to inform you or Buffy of his monitoring."

            "What do you mean by informational sources?" Anya asked.

            Wesley glanced at Charles.  Moving into the center of the room, Charles said, "Sources like me."

            "And who are you?"

            A sardonic grin crossed Charles' face.  "I'm a Watcher."

            "Excuse me?  You're a what?"

            Charles turned towards Buffy and repeated his identification as a Watcher.  A beat passed.  A dark chuckle escaped Buffy's lips and she ran her hands through her golden hair.  She said to Charles, "How long have you been in Sunnydale… watching us… reporting back to him?"

            "Three years, close to four.  Travers assigned me to the Hellmouth after you quit the Council during the fight against the Mayor."

            "Are you the only Watcher here in town or are there more hiding underneath the woodwork, ready to tattletale on us at a moment's notice?"

            "No," Wesley said.  "Charles is the only Watcher in Sunnydale.  Besides Giles and myself, of course.  The rest of the information Travers has gleaned came from informal sources."

            "Such as…"

            Rubbing a hand over his dark hair, Wesley racked his brain for a few moments before replying, "Well, the witches employed by the Council detected the massive magical disturbance generated by Willow when she attempted to destroy the world.  Travers gleaned the specifics of that situation from two young men, one named Jonathan and the other Andrew.  One of Travers' lackeys in Los Angeles encountered them, and they told him what they knew, in return for safe passage to Mexico."  He paused for a moment before he continued.  "He learned of Anya and Xander's interrupted nuptials from a few of the demon guests at the wedding.  They're Council informants here on the Hellmouth.  They're kept in specialized apartments somewhere on Main Street.  Dawn's bout of kleptomania was reported by the shopkeepers she stole from and Buffy's financial situation from her former employer.  The Council has contacts in virtually ever business in Sunnydale.  A lot of money goes a long way in gathering intel."  Another pause.  The room was silent, deathly so, as Wesley revealed the intricate web of information Travers had spun over Sunnydale.  "And Buffy's relationship with Spike…"

            "Was told to Travers by me," Charles finished.  "After a few… interludes… you two had at the Bronze."

            Face flushing scarlet, Buffy cast a sidelong glance at Spike, who kept his gaze firmly pinned to the floor as he developed a sudden coughing fit.  

            "Ok," Faith said, interrupting the uncomfortable moment stretching between the Scoobies.  Her dark eyes locked on Wesley.  "So Travers is more diabolical than we thought.  No big shocker there.  Guy seemed like the type to crave massive power trips.  But none of this explains how you or elf chick or big red here came to work together."

            Wesley smirked.  "No, it doesn't."

            "So why don't you tell us, Wesley," Angel said slowly, his voice tight with tension.

            Wesley spared a glance at Angel as he said, "Alright.  I will. Travers went to Lilah first.  He needed someone close to Sunnydale and L.A. who would assess the current situation in both locations and report back to him."

            "Why would he go to Lilah?" Cordelia asked.  "She's not exactly one to walk the straight and narrow.  Especially not since she works for Hell's personal law firm."

            "He went to Lilah to get to me.  The Council has a few connections at Wolfram and Hart.  It was through them he had learned of my… dismissal… from Angel Investigations, and he thought I would be interested in taking revenge on them, as well as the people who had cared nothing for me in Sunnydale, while at the same time properly fight the good fight by taking over the Hellmouth and protecting it with a new Slayer and Council resources.  Travers went to Lilah to seduce me to his side."

            "And she agreed," Giles said.

            "Yes.  She would get free range access to the Hellmouth, as long as she did nothing to bring about an apocalypse or imbalance of the forces of good and evil.  Basically, whatever she wanted to do she could do.  Access to the demon black market, the opportunity to send her enemies to Sunnydale to be disposed of… anything."  A wry grin twisted Wesley's lips.  "Naturally, her bosses at Wolfram and Hart know nothing about this arrangement."

            "And what would you get, Wesley?" Buffy asked as she folded her arms across her chest.  "What did Travers promise you for working with him?"

            "Reinstatement as an official Watcher and control over the planned Sunnydale branch of the Watcher's Council."

            "What about you, Charles?" Giles asked.

            A dark look passed across Charles' face.  He glanced at the ceiling, towards the room in which Emilia lay, still unconscious from her psychic exertions.  "If I worked with Travers, he wouldn't kill Emilia."

            Giles blinked.  Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose.  Quietly, with a hint of Ripper lying beneath the soft cadences composing his voice, he said, "Why would Travers want to kill Emilia?"

            "I don't know.  But he didn't need a reason when he killed her sister… my wife."

*                      *                      *

            _He moved slowly into the kitchen, his grey eyes locked upon her as he slid into one of the white chairs circling the small round table.  Emilia breathed a sigh of relief at Giles' acquiescence to her request for him to sit down and listen to her story.  He was willing to listen to her, for a while at least.  It meant she had a chance.  _

_            "Are you sure you don't want any tea?" she asked, suddenly nervous, her slim fingers dancing across the fine porcelain of her cup.  He quirked an eyebrow and shook his head, obviously baffled by her rapid change in demeanor.  Emilia rolled her eyes and laughed; she smoothed a stray hair away from her face and said, "Sorry.  I wasn't sure whether or not you would actually sit down.  I've never told anyone this before."_

_            "You don't have to-"_

_            "No.  No, I want to."  She flashed a smile, hoping for confidence but attaining a barely disguised nervousness.  Giles stared back at her, the wary, suspicious expression upon his face softening a bit by her nervousness.  He reached out and grasped the mug of tea she had fixed for him, lifted it, and took an experimental sip, smiling as the multitude of flavors cascaded over his tongue.  _

_            Relaxing at his gesture of cordiality, Emilia sucked in a deep breath and said, "Ok.  There was this boy.  There's always a boy in these types of stories, isn't there?  His name was Michael.  I met him at a pub about three years ago.  He saved me from the pathetic pick up lines from a bunch of drunk and horny rugby players."  She smiled at the memory.  "Naturally, I was smitten.  My own personal knight in shining armor.  We spent the rest of the night together under the pretense of protecting me from the rugbies.  By the end of the night, I was in love.  He was… perfect.  He could hold conversations about something other than football or liquor or other guy related things.  And he had the most wicked sense of humor, absolutely naughty at times.  And he loved me."_

_            Her hands began to tremble and she felt hot tears prick her eyes.  Gaze focused on her cup of tea, Emilia continued, "A year passed and we were still together.  I thought he was the one, that one magical person that you're supposed to find in life.  The one that completes you, fills in your empty places, smoothes over your rough edges, while still loving you for all of your faults and quirks.  I thought we were to get married, so I told him who I was… what I am.  That I wasn't altogether human.  That I could see his soul and read his mind."_

_            Emilia's grip tightened on her cup.  Her violet eyes dropped to the table.  "He left.  Called me a freak, screamed at me for lying to me, for tricking him into loving me.  He left and he never came back.  Never phoned.  Never wrote.  Nothing."  A ghost of a smile curved her lips.  "Needless to say, I didn't take his leaving very well.  I drank so much I thought I would turn into a bottle of liquor.  I did anything I could to try to forget.  Forget him.  Forget his hatred of me when I told him I was an Elf.  I ended up in a pub one night.  Real shitty place, like the one I found you in.  I got completely pissed, much to the enjoyment of the regular Joes there for the night.  I wanted to forget, so I picked a man out of the bunch and tried to forget.  The rest of his mates wanted to help me forget too."_

_            She dropped the cup onto its saucer, the sharp clack of porcelain on porcelain like a gunshot in the kitchen.  "They had me outside in the alley, pushed up against the wall when he found me."_

_            "Who?"_

_            Emilia looked at Giles.  Lost in her memories, she had nearly forgotten he was sitting across from her.  His grey eyes were soft and warm, a steely gleam beneath the compassion, and she felt like crying at his kindness and his anger at her past and her pain.  "Charles.  He's a Watcher, like you.  Like you will be.  He was out roaming around the alleyways looking for vampires, and he stumbled upon a soulless evil of the human variety.  He saved me.  Completely beat the shit out of those blokes.  He took me home, and he and my sister nursed me back to health."_

_            "Your sister?"_

_            "Ariana.  Older sister and very protective of me."  Another smile appeared on her face.  "When she opened the door to me and Charles, she helped him place me on the couch and then proceeded to lay into him for my less than savory appearance.  It truly is a thing to behold when my sister gets angry.  She's like a force of nature.  Charles didn't know what hit him."_

_            "Did, um, your sister do something to this Charles bloke?"_

_            Emilia giggled.  "She did something alright.  I think he fell in love with her right then and there while she was screaming at the top of her lungs at him because of me."  Composing herself, Emilia looked at Rupert and said, "They both helped me recover, from the alcohol, from the attempted attack, from Michael.  Helped me reclaim my life, my lust for life, if you will."_

_            Leaning back in his chair, Giles gazed at Emilia for a few moments.  One corner of his mouth quirked up as he said, "And you mean to do the same to me.  Save me from myself and make me want to live again?"_

_            "Something like that.  I can never repay Charles or Ariana for what they did for me.  But I saw you two nights ago, and I knew you.  You were me.  Trying to drink your life away.  And I wanted to help you like they helped me."  Placing her elbow on the table, Emilia cradled her chin in her hand and locked eyes with Giles.  She smiled, a slow smile, a slightly naughty smile, and said, "So Rupert Giles, do you want me to save you?"_

_            He laughed at her impishness.  Grey eyes twinkling with sparks of life, he said, "Yes.  I believe I rather would."_

*                      *                      *__

            He felt lightheaded, disconnected, unable to process what Charles had said.  Slowly, Giles lifted his gaze from the floor and he looked at Charles.  "Ariana is dead?  How long…"

            Hands tightening into fists, Charles replied, "About a year and a half."

            "And Quentin?"

            Charles' voice was flat and emotionless as he said, "I don't know for sure whether Travers ordered the hit on Ariana.  Supposedly, the Watcher who killed her didn't know who she was, that she was married to me.  His little demon detector said she was non-human, so he killed her.  Said it was a misunderstanding, thought she was about to hurt this random bloke who conveniently ran away without identifying himself to the Watcher or corroborating his story."  His face was grim as he gazed at Giles.  "But Travers had to have been involved in some way.  It's just too convenient that she died a few weeks after I put in for a transfer back to England."

            "He… he killed her?" Willow asked, eyes wide with sympathy and shock.  "He killed her just because you wanted to go home?"

            "Quentin Travers is a ruthless bastard that'll use any means necessary to get what he wants.  He's plotted this attack on you for years, ever since Faith went rogue and Buffy quit the Council.  He perceived both actions as personal attacks against him and his organization, and Buffy's subsequent power play during the fight against Glory incensed him further."  Charles paused and looked around the room, holding each person's gaze for a moment before moving on to the next.  "Travers will stop at nothing to have you all dead.  He knows you, your strengths, your weaknesses, everything, and he's not afraid to use them against you."

            "And now he has Dawn and Connor," Buffy said.  She gnawed on her lower lip as she began pacing the living room.  Glancing at Giles she said, "He plans on us to go after him and rescue them."

            Giles nodded.  "Lure us away from Sunnydale, where we have the advantage."

            "And then he can slip in here and have his lackeys take control of the Hellmouth while he kills us on his home turf."  She shook her head as she continued, "He can try to kill us.  He thinks he knows us.  He thinks he knows what we're capable of."  Buffy smiled, a cold, hard grin twisting her lips.  "He has no idea." 

*                      *                      *


	39. Corners of My Mind

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

**AN:  _Please read_!  The third section in this chapter deals with child abuse.  **It occurs in a flashback and is designated by (( _italics)).  The focus is on the feelings and aftermath of abuse, not a direct depiction of it.  This story has an R rating, and I feel the mentioned abuse does not violate the rating.  Still, please skip the section if you are uncomfortable reading about this.                    _

I apologize for the delay in this chapter.  Two horrendous weeks of finals completely wiped me out, and this chapter required a lot of time and energy to write, so I had to put it off for a while.  But here it is.  As always, feedback is a wonderful thing.  Chapter title from _Corners of My Mind by Nikka Costa.****_

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Corners of My Mind

By: Wynn

            They whispered in her mind.  Quiet, angry, frightened, and nervous.  Betrayed, exhausted, hurt, and tense.  All thoughts jumbled together in a jarring cacophony that made Emilia wince.  She measured her breathing, taking in slow, steady, deep breaths, and carefully, cautiously rebuilt the mental barriers she had ripped down during her mental 9-1-1 call.  Reading one person's mind was a piece of cake; a little nudge here, a tiny push there, and she was inside his or her mind thinking their thoughts right along with them.  But forcing her thoughts into not one, but five people's brains took a hell of a lot more effort and usually resulted in unconsciousness followed by massive migraines, pain, and an inability to filter out other's wandering thoughts.    

            "How are you feeling?"

            Violet eyes fluttering open, Emilia rolled onto her side and focused on Giles.  The bedroom was dark; a plush quilt covered her body.  A wan smile appeared on her face as she said, "Wonderful.  My brain's been stretched over the entire state of California, but other than that…"

            Giles nodded, an absentminded shake of his head that set Emilia on edge.  She closed her eyes against the roiling onslaught of emotions swirling within his aura.  Something was bothering him, enough that his usual cool, calm, and collected exterior was getting quite a workout in attempting to stifle his anger and frustration.  "Where am I?" she asked quietly.

            "Spike's."

            "Is everyone-"

            "Fine."

            A jolt of anger coursed through her at his flat tone.  Opening her eyes again, she said, "If you have something to say to me, Rupert, just bloody well say it.  I'm not in the mood to deal with you sidestepping whatever issue's got you good and brassed off."

            His gaze flickered to her as he said in a deathly calm voice, "You lied to me."

            She closed her eyes again and leaned back against her pillow.  So that was it.  The truth had finally come out.  In a way she was relieved.  Lying never came easy to Emilia; her tendency to blurt out whatever was on her mind, regardless of the consequences, usually thwarted any attempts at deception.  But the stakes had been too high this time to allow for deficiencies in control of one's characteristics.  Or of one's emotions.  "Yes," she said.

            "You didn't see fit to tell me my own Slayer was being targeted-"

            "I couldn't.  Charles and Wesley asked me not to."

            "Why?"

            "Taking down Quentin Travers is going to take more than just brute force," Emilia said as she turned towards him again.  "He has the power of the Council behind him.  We had to wait until he did something foolish, something that couldn't be explained off as testing or training until we made any kind of move against him.  If you had known of his involvement, it could have manifested itself in some way he could have noticed, and we would have lost our opportunity to take him out."

            Giles' voice was tight with anger as he said, "And you didn't think I could have acted right along with the rest of you, put a blind eye towards Quentin while helping you work against him.  I am not a child Emilia-"

            "I know you're not a child!  Don't you dare presume to think that I think of you that way or that any of this has been easy for me.  It hasn't been."

            "Yet you still lied to me."

            Stifling a sigh, Emilia turned her weary gaze on Giles and said, "Yes, I did.  And can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have done the same thing if you had been in my position?  If Quentin had killed Buffy for no reason other than he could, you're telling me you wouldn't have done anything in your power to see justice done?  To make sure he could never hurt anyone like that again?"

            "Is that what this is?" Giles asked, blue eyes tired, bowed down with the weight of betrayal.  "Justice?"

            "Yes.  He used his power to murder my sister.  He's using it to try to kill you and Buffy and her friends.  He needs to be stopped."  She paused and drew in another deep breath, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the rage of thoughts that were careening through Giles' mind.  Visions of a dark haired gypsy forced their way into her consciousness.  Images of another betrayal done in the name of so-called justice.  "I'm not like her.  I didn't lie to you because of a centuries old grievance against a threat that was no longer there.  Travers is real and he is dangerous."

            "Don't you dare bring Jenny into this."

            "I didn't.  You did."  She shook her head slowly and turned away from Giles, burying her head within the soft confines of her pillow.  "I am sorry I hurt you.  I never wanted to do so.  I only did what I thought was necessary to see that this tyrant be stopped.  He's killed once, and he won't hesitate in doing so again."  Emilia paused.  She drew in a deep breath as memories of her sister Ariana careened through her mind.  "He needs to be stopped," she said again.  "By any means necessary."

            "I-"

            "Rupert, I need you to leave.  Please.  I can't… do this right now."

            She felt him behind her, felt his need to continue railing against her, to vent all of his anger and frustration built up over the past few days.  He sighed and moved toward the door.  Emilia heard the door open and close as cool tears slid down her face, soaking into the depths of her feather soft pillow.

*                      *                      *

            Smooth and cool under his palm, Spike twisted the doorknob and eased his bedroom door open.  Sliding into the room, he gently pushed the door closed then turned and faced Buffy.  She sat on his bed, golden hair still damp and tangled from her shower, body drowning in a pair of Cordelia's pajamas.  Fred's blue comb lay in her hand, unused and apparently forgotten.  Her hazel eyes stared unseeing into space, lost in memories conjured by her restless mind.

            Moving into the room, Spike said quietly, "Everyone's settled downstairs.  Anya and Charles brought training mats from The Magic Box for everyone to sleep on, and Willow and Cordelia got blankets and pillows from Harris' flat.  Red'll try the locator spell again in the morning.  More than likely Travers'll be wherever he's heading by then and she can get a fix on them.  Wesley and Charles think he's probably heading back to England though, back to the Wanker's Council."  

She didn't respond to his soft statements.  Spike ran a hand through his short brown and blonde hair as he walked aimlessly around the bedroom, unsure of whether to keep babbling nonsense or to leave the room.  Not that there was anywhere else for him to sleep.  Although he could probably knock Angel unconscious and push the big lug out of the bed down the hall if he had to.  Clearing his throat, he continued, "Buffy-"

            "Don't leave."

            "Alright."  He took a cautious step towards her and the bed, blue eyes locked upon her face.  Something was wrong.  Spike knew that.  He felt the tension and sorrow vibrating off Buffy with the strength and force of a hurricane.  Whether she would tell him what was wrong was another thing entirely.  "Wasn't really planning on it," he said, his voice light and flippant, the jovial tone betrayed by the seriousness in his eyes.  "Don't fancy sleeping next to Peaches.  He has a tendency to snore.  Loud.  Like a bleeding buzz saw." 

            Shaking her head, Buffy turned towards him.  Her hazel eyes were large and luminous in the light of the lamp.  "I… didn't mean it like that.  I… You can't let him make you leave… make you leave me."  She tore her eyes from him and glanced down at her hands.  Drawing in a shaky breath, Buffy looked at him again as she said, "I couldn't- I don't know what I'd do if you… if you were…"

            Sitting beside her, Spike grasped one of Buffy's hands and threaded his fingers through hers.  "I'm not going anywhere, luv.  Never again."

            A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she sighed.  "I know.  I know.  I'm just… scared.  My whole family was taken from me in one night by an evil troll man who's wanted me dead for years. A man who was supposed to be helping me fight evil, in his own stuffed British way."  She swallowed hard.  Her thumb caressed the side of his palm as her fingers gripped his hand tighter in hers.  "I'm just scared he'll take you too.  In the permanent, dusty way.  And I don't think I'd be able to handle that."

            Spike saw the tears swimming within her hazel eyes.  He felt the slight tremor coursing through her body.  Shifting on the bed, he lifted a hand to the side of her face, fingertips trailing across her skin, palm cupping her chin in a gentle embrace.  "I can't make any promises that I'll never die.  Because someday I will.  But it will not be at the hands of wanker Quentin Travers.  He's just a scared little man who doesn't have a clue about anything, much less what a Slayer is or how she works."  He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  "We will get Dawn back.  We'll even get Angel's spawn, too.  And then we'll kick Tweed's ass so hard he'll never even think about coming after us again."

            Winding her arms around him, Buffy leaned into Spike and laid her head against his chest.  "I love you."

            He couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face at her words of love.  They were still too new, too precious to hear.  Smoothing a hand across her head, Spike said, "I love you.  Always."

            "Show me."  She pulled away from him a bit and tilted her chin in the air, locking her gaze with his.  She whispered, "Show me you love me."  Moving up his body, Buffy brushed her lips against his as she said, "Let me show you that I love you.  That I want you and I need you.  Please."

            He answered her with a kiss.  Soul searing, the flames that rose within him from her touch burned away all the doubts and fears and worries lingering in his mind, saying she shouldn't love him, that he wasn't worthy of her or her love, not after all he had done, and it left in its wake a clarity of vision and of love he had never felt before.  It was like a phoenix reborn from the ashes, new and different, yet with an aura of ancient, primal energy, of hundreds of thousands of lives lived and breathed and died, only to be reborn again into something greater than its previous self.  He loved her, with everything that was in him, the soul, the man, and the demon.  And he knew she loved him, with everything that was in her, the soul, the woman, and the Slayer.  That's just the way it was.  The way it is.  The way it would be.  Forever.

*                      *                      *

            She knew he was behind her, watching her, following her, but fuck if she cared.  Let Wesley do whatever the hell he wanted as long as he stayed out of her way.  Faith strode through the cemetery, dark eyes roving across the tombstones, mortuaries, and crypts.  She twirled her stake in her hands, manic energy rolling off her in waves.  She wanted to kill something… needed to kill something.  Now.

            A feral smirk curved her lips as she spotted the pack of vampires strolling through the graves.  Faith slipped behind a large crypt, moving into the shadows as she circled around the demons, keeping to the black shade as they walked in the white moonlight.  She often wondered why vampires kept to cemeteries.  Everyone who was there was either dead and buried, dead and walking, or Death herself.  She supposed it was easier for the vamps to remain in the graveyard; too many complications arose when one tried to acclimate to the land of the living.  Too much pain, too much hate, too much sickness in the human world.  Best to stick to the simple, final, unavoidable realm of death.

            She leapt from the shadows right into the center of the pack.  The five vampires froze in mid-conversation, yellow eyes locked on her, her black leather clad body, and her wooden stake.  A moment passed in which time froze and the hunters became the hunted.  

            Then, they pounced.

            Faith punched and kicked and clawed and staked, the battlefield becoming a frenzied cloud of dust, dirt, and destruction.  The power flowed through her, fusing into her bones, sparking within her like an internal combustion engine.  Violent.  Fiery.  Explosive.  The power flamed within her, turning her into ashes from the inside, burning away the lonely feelings of a lost little girl she didn't want to acknowledge let alone feel.

            _Rough hands bruised her skin, shoving her back against the concrete wall.  Panic set in on Faith, erupting out of her in a scream and a violent kick to the man's gut.  The crash of flesh on steel echoed in her ears as a rough voice spoke, "Time's up, Slayer."_

            ((_Rough hands bruised her skin, shoving her back against the rock hard bed.  "You tell anyone, you know I'll kill you.  Ain't no one gonna believe a whore like you anyway."    Sweat and booze coated her tongue from the hand pressed over her mouth, silencing her silent cries.  "That's my good Faith.  Nice and quiet.  Ain't no one gonna save you, girl.  No one cares a lick about you.  Never have, never will."))_

            Red, ripe rage swelled within her.  Her eyes locked onto the one remaining vampire; her nerves smoldered with memories of helplessness and hopelessness.  Of weakness and desperation.  Of wanting to die to escape the horrors of life but being too scared to go through with any plan a scared little girl could think up.  And it had all come flooding back when rough hands pinned her against the wall in Mulholland Drive, making her feel weak and desperate.  But this time she had the power to fight back.

            Faith gripped the stake tighter, the rough wood grain slicing into her hand as she moved towards the vampire.  He turned to run but exploded into dust before he could flee Faith and her stake.  Blinking away the red haze of anger clouding her vision, Faith peered through the falling dust.  Her mouth hardened as she saw Wesley replace his stake in the pocket of his brown jacket.

            "What do you think you're doing?" she asked through gritted teeth.

            Arching a brow at her tight tone, Wesley said, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

            "Getting in my way."

            "Funny.  I thought it was more like staking a vampire.  My mistake."

            "Don't you have anything better to do, Wesley, than follow me around?  'Cause I'm getting a little tired of the stalker routine."

            "I was concerned."

            Faith snorted.  Pocketing her stake, she stalked towards Wesley, stopping a few inches in front of him.  Hands on her hips, she said, "About me?  How touching.  Now get the fuck over it and leave me the hell alone."

            He stared at her for a few moments, blue eyes assessing her frazzled form with a measured calm Faith found disconcerting.  Wesley tilted his head to the side and said, "Does it surprise you that someone could be concerned about you?  Or is it just that that someone is me that is so bothersome?"

            Ignoring his questions, Faith brushed by Wesley and said, "Just leave me alone.  I don't need your concern."  She folded her arms across her black leather halter and walked through the headstones, pushing Wesley and everything else that had been stirred up inside her over the past few days back down into her subconscious.  Before she turned to walk out the cemetery, his voice drifted towards her, blowing away all efforts to submerge her feelings in a sea of brashness and bravado.

            "But you want it."

            Faith hadn't realized she had stopped until he was in front of her, all mussed hair and soft eyes, and it made her want to knock him down, punch the concern from his face so she wouldn't have to deal with him or with herself.  Gazing at Wesley with hard eyes, she said, "You don't know what I want.  You don't know anything about me, so stop trying to act like you have great insight into the private world of Faith because you don't."

            "Would it be so horrible if I did?  If I had that great insight into the private world of Faith?  If I knew you, the real you, instead of this brazen leather clad exterior you wear as a shield?"

            "Why would you want that?" she asked softly.

            "Because you're worth knowing."  He smoothed a hand across the dark stubble upon his chin.  Glancing at Faith, Wesley said, "I saw you the day you were released from prison.  I watched you walk through the steel doors and take in the world.  And your face… you smiled.  I'd never seen you smile before.  Not a real one.  And I knew there was more I had never seen… that I wanted to see."  A wry grin crossed his face as he continued, "And I know you think I'm crazy seeing as how I've just admitted to more stalker tendencies, but I-"  

            "Shut up, Wesley," Faith said.  Her hands latched onto the collar of his jacket and she drew him towards her, stepping into him and pressing against the hard length of his body.  "You want to get to know me?" she asked as she stared up into his eyes.  Moving closer to him, she ran her tongue along the bottom edge of his lips and said, "Less talk.  More action."  And then she kissed him, hard, bruising, pouring all of her rage and pain through her lips into his, opening the hidden corners of her mind and releasing the pent up heartaches and betrayals, slights and sins, grief and misery she had caused and felt since she was a lost little girl.  Pulling back, lips swollen from kisses, dark eyes glittering with unshed tears stored up over a lifetime, she said, "This is me.  This is me."

            His blue eyes moved across her face, taking in every line and curve before returning to her dark gaze.  A moment passed and a line was crossed and Wesley nodded, dipped his head down, and captured her lips once more with his.

*                      *                      *


	40. Flight

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: The "dog with a bone" description is from _Get It Done and "ruggedly handsome" is from _Tabula Rasa_.  Extra, extra long chapter this time.  Many thanks to everyone who has continued to review this story.  I appreciate the dedication put into reading and reviewing this fic.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.  _

Chapter Forty: Flight

By: Wynn

            The day dawned over the horizon, melting the inky darkness into shades of lush indigo, rosy pink, and warm orange.  Dawn peered through the tiny round window of the airplane.  Outlines of hills and countryside were visible in the light of day, a change from the shimmering ocean water highlighted by the moon and starlight that she had seen for the past five hours.  She didn't know much about flight trajectories or the alignment of stars, but from the length of the flight, which traveled over vast expanses of country dotted with brilliantly lit cities and across the moonlit sea, Dawn figured Quentin Travers was taking her and Connor to England.  

            "So who is this Travers?"

            Turning from the window, Dawn focused on Connor.  Shortly after her chilling interlude with Travers, Connor had been brought into the main cabin and placed in the seat opposite her.  His arms and legs were bound in steel shackles, magically reinforced to counter Connor's superior strength; he had tried prying the shackles apart, but his efforts resulted in electric shocks traveling through his body.  Although the shackles hadn't really been necessary as Connor was still woozy from whatever drug they injected into him in order to knock him out and kidnap him.  

            "He's the head of the Watcher's Council," Dawn said, her blue eyes darting to the closed cabin door before resting on Connor's face.  "He's like Buffy's boss, except she doesn't follow Council orders."

            He nodded, gaze flickering around the airplane, cautious and alert.  "What does he want?"

            Restraining her eye roll, Dawn said, "He wants Buffy dead.  Big shocker there. That's what the snatch and grab job was for.  To get Buffy to follow us so he can kill her.  All it's really going to do is piss her off, which isn't a smart thing to do."

            Connor nodded again.  Leaning his head back against the seat, he looked out the airplane window, his dark features awash in the bright rays of the early morning sunshine.  Blinking at the light, he turned his chocolate brown eyes on Dawn and said, "I understand why he took you, to get to your sister.  But why does he want me?"

            "Because you're unique."

            Standing in the open cabin doorway was Lilah.  Immaculate in a navy pinstriped suit, she moved through the door, closed it behind her, and walked over to Dawn and Connor, sitting in the seat next to Dawn.  Flashing Connor a knowing smirk, she continued, "The child of two vampires.  That's not something that happens everyday.  Many people are interested in you, Connor, including the Watcher's Council.  The opportunity arose to take you along with Dawn, and Travers seized it."

            "So you work for the Council now?" Dawn asked, arching one brow as she stared at Lilah.

            "Hell no.  I wouldn't work for those old stodgy bastards for all the money in the world."

            "But you'd work for Wolfram and Hart."

            "Yes.  There are certain… advantages to working at Wolfram and Hart, advantages only they can offer."

            "Advantages?  Like your own personal copy of Evil for Dummies?"

            Lilah laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that echoed around the cabin.  "Something like that," she said as her laughter faded into a ruby red smirk.  Eyes sparkling with amusement, she silently gazed at Dawn, who returned her stare, unblinking, refusing to show any fear.  Aside from Tyler and his right hook (she was still blood soaked and pissed off from that unfortunate incident) Dawn hadn't been harmed in any way.  She knew she was bait to lure Buffy into Travers' trap and needed to be kept alive in order to do so.  Lilah couldn't do anything to her, except annoy her to death with her superior attitude and irritating smirks.  

            "You're not afraid of me," Lilah said after a few moments.

            "Not really.  After facing off with a hellgod, a stuck up lawyer doesn't exactly cause the shakes and shivers."

            "I guess not."  Silence stretched through the tiny cabin as Lilah gazed at Dawn, who began to squirm under Lilah's penetrating stare, much to Dawn's chagrin.  Dark eyes flickered to Connor before refocusing on Dawn.  "You know you're unique, too," Lilah said, breaking the taut silence, her voice subdued, a husky whisper drifting through the confines of the plane.  "An ancient mystical key stuffed into the body and blood of a fifteen-"

            "Sixteen."

            "-sixteen year old girl to open the lock between the dimensions.  Did you ever wonder whether all that energy vanished after Glory's defeat?"  Lilah paused and arched an eyebrow as her dark eyes bored into Dawn's.  After a moment of silence, she continued, "There are other types of mystical locks in the universe that could require opening.  It's almost a shame for all that energy to vanish after one failed apocalypse."  

            A bright smile appeared on Lilah's face.  She shifted in her seat and gazed out the airplane window.  "Almost there.  Ten minutes at the most.  I know I'm ready to get off this airplane.  The company has been… aggravating, to say the least."  Smirking, she said to Dawn, "Men with their big plans.  Just compensation for other not-so-big parts of their anatomy.  Continuous talk about smashing and killing in a desperate attempt to cover their remarkable lack of balls."  Standing, Lilah moved towards the cabin door and rested her palm on the handle.  Glancing over her shoulder at Dawn and Connor, she said, "You two should get ready.  I suspect things are about to get very interesting."

*                      *                      *

            "So do all Elves have their own private jets, or is Emilia just special?"  Anya looked around the plush cabin of Emilia's plane, decorated in vibrant greens and gold.  As the dot on Willow's locator spell designating Dawn and Connor had traveled over the Atlantic, questions had been asked as to how the Scoobies were going to follow.  Many suggestions on how to mass teleport twelve people over the ocean had been made before Emilia mentioned her plane, which had been readily and thankfully accepted as the mode of travel since the other option had involved a spell that would leave the users covered in thick, black slime.  Anya didn't fancy being drowned in dark goo.  The stains would be ridiculously expensive to clean.

            "Maybe it's one of the options in Elfish powers," Anya continued as she peered out the airplane window, nose pressed against the thick plexiglass.  "Instead of telepathy or soul reading, you get a private jet with your own mini bar and entertainment system."

            "Anya, I severely doubt every single Elf in existence has his or her own airplane," Giles said irritably from his seat beside her.  He stared straight ahead, arms crossed across his chest, mouth pressed into a thin line.  "Emilia's family is very wealthy."

            "You're probably right," she said as she flashed him a bright smile.  "Seeing as how you know so much about Elves."  He had been moody ever since Wesley and Charles' revelation about Emilia's involvement in their schemes, borderline sulking during the past few hours on the plane.  His attitude was beginning to severely grate on Anya's nerves.  Something had to be done, and she was just the woman to do it.  "Or maybe you don't know as much as you think," she finished, gazing down at her nails, watching Giles' reaction from the corners of her eyes.

            "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

            "Well," Anya said slowly, "you just seem surprised at Emilia's actions.  Any idiot knows of the deep familial bonds Elves have with their kin, so it's not at all surprising she worked with Wesley and Charles to bring down Travers.  He had her sister murdered.  It's natural she would want revenge.  I don't understand why you're so angry with her."  She continued before he had the chance to open his mouth in protest.  "Maybe you're not really angry with her though.  Maybe you're just taking your anger over being swindled by Travers out on Emilia."

            "I was _not _swindled by Quentin Travers."

            "So you knew he wanted to kill us all, and you let it happen?  Thank you very much.  A warning would have been nice.  I might have rethought that whole giving up immortality and demon invulnerability.  Humans are remarkably fragile."

            Heaving an exasperated sigh, Giles said, "I didn't know Travers wanted us dead-"

            "So you were swindled.  And you're angry at yourself because you were swindled and because you think you should have seen through the little man's manipulations and you didn't.  And you're taking it out on Emilia because you can't get your hands on Travers and you can't fight with the rest of us because we were swindled too."  Anya leaned back in her seat with a triumphant smile as Giles gaped at her open mouthed.  Humans always made simple emotions as complicated as possible, covering them in denials and rationalizations.  It was one of the aspects of humanity Anya loathed, preferring blunt honesty to subtle lies.

            "Is this a free session, Dr. Freud, or do you require monetary compensation for your keen observations into my psyche?"

            "I require no monetary compensation," Anya said primly.  "Just your heartfelt gratitude at my selfless act of analyzing.  I am always here to help you comprehend your thoughts and feelings."      

            Giles arched a brow at her statements.  Shifting in his seat to face her, he said, "I suppose your selfless act of analyzing deserves to be returned in full.  How _are_ things with Xander?"

            Golden eyes darting to the far end of the cabin to where Xander sat with Willow and Cordelia, Anya said, "Perfectly dreadful.  Thank you for asking.  Now, back to Emilia-"

            "Not just yet.  I want to make sure you _fully comprehend your thoughts and feelings concerning Xander.  It's only fair seeing as how you so graciously pried into my personal life."_

            "I wasn't prying."

            "Really."

            Sighing, Anya shot an irritated glance at Giles and said, "I'm just trying to help you get over whatever funk you're in so you can apologize to Emilia and commence with the kissing."

            "I never said I wanted to kiss Emilia.  And she doesn't want to kiss me.  Honestly, is that all you ever think about?"

            "How do you know she doesn't want to kiss you?"  She waited for his response, golden gaze gleaming with satisfaction as he struggled to think of an appropriate answer.  "You don't know.  You're a man and are ignorant to the inner workings of the feminine mind.  It's not your fault.  Too much testosterone in your blood creates deficits in nearly all higher cognitive functioning among the male gender in most species.  Just because I'm feeling generous and feel the need to illuminate your tragically deficient mind, I'll let you in on a little secret, Rupert."  Anya leaned close to Giles and said in a low, confidential tone, "You're attractive in a ruggedly handsome way.  A woman would have to be crazy not to want to kiss you."

            One corner of Giles' mouth quirked up in amusement.  "So does this mean you want to kiss me?"

            "I already have.  Twice."

            "I remember."

            A broad grin appeared on Anya's face.  "Of course you would.  I'm an excellent kisser.  But we're not supposed to be talking about me.  We're talking about you."

            "No, _you're _talking about me and dragging me along for the ride."  Before Anya could answer, Giles spoke again, "And there are more important things to be doing right now than analyzing me."

            "Like what?  Staring out the window?  Flipping through these nice little books on airplane safety?"

            "Planning how we're going to rescue Dawn and Connor from Travers."

            A slow smile stretched across Anya's face as she said, "I don't see you planning anything.  Might it be because those who are planning something include Emilia, who you've been avoiding since we left Spike's?"  She pointed to the middle of the cabin where Wesley, Charles, Emilia, and Buffy sat huddled around maps of London and schematics of the Watcher's Council, discussing the best way to bring down Travers and rescue Dawn and Connor.  

            "I don't want to interfere," Giles said stubbornly.

            "Right.  Of course you don't.  Despite your lame excuse, you're still here instead of there, thus we should be discussing you and Emilia because there is nothing better to do."

            Giles stared at her, blinking every few moments and opening his mouth only to close it without speaking.  He shook his head slowly as he stood.  "I think I'll check on the pilot, see how long we've left on this flight."  As he walked towards the front of the plane, Anya heard him mutter, "Bloody stubborn woman.  Like a dog with a bone."

*                      *                      *

            "Would you let it go?  I don't want to talk to you about it, so just fuck off, Angel."

            Ignoring Faith's request, Angel leaned forward in his chair and said, "Faith-"

            "No, Angel.  I am not talking to you about Wes, so stop asking."

            "You should probably do what she says, mate," Spike said as he shifted in his seat beside Angel, burrowing down into the plush leather.  "That is unless you want to be heaved out of the airplane by a brassed off Slayer.  You'd probably survive the fall into the big blue sea down there, that is if Mr. Sunshine didn't burn you to a crisp on the way down."

            Scowling at Spike, Angel said, "No one asked your opinion."

            "Well, I didn't ask for your opinion," Faith said to Angel, dark eyes flashing with anger, "but you certainly gave it to me anyway."

            "Someone has to talk some sense into you.  Getting involved with Wesley isn't a smart thing to do, Faith."

            "Probably not.  But if it's what I want to do, then it's what I'm going to do.  I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Angel.  I don't need you making them for me."

            "She has a point, you know," Spike said as he crossed his arms behind his head and propped one foot onto the empty seat in front of him.  "Besides, this Wesley bloke doesn't seem to be too bad.  He's certainly not the unholy leper you're making him out to be."

            Turning towards Spike, irritation flaring in his eyes, Angel said, "You've known him for about five minutes, Spike.  I've known him for years.  I think I know him a little better than you do."

            "Sure.  Whatever you say, Peaches." 

            "And what is that supposed to mean, Spike?"

            Simultaneously sighing and rolling his eyes, Spike straightened in his seat and looked at Angel, his blue gaze alight with frustration mixed with a dash of pity.  "Angel, you're not exactly the master of objective perception.  You see what you want to see, despite whatever contradictory evidence might be smacking you upside your thick, over-gelled head.  You want to see Wesley as the village pariah because you don't want to admit you were wrong to try to kill him and that he was genuinely trying to do the right thing."

            "The right thing?  He kidnapped my son.  He's been trying to kill us for the past few months."

            Stifling a groan, Faith said, "Did you hear one word Wes said?  He wasn't trying to kill us.  He was keeping tabs on Travers, making sure _he didn't kill us."_

            "Faith-"

            "Look, Angel, I get you're pissed that he snatched your son.  You missed out on your chance to fuck up your kid and make him hate you.  Instead someone else screws up your kid and he still hates you.  But Wesley made a mistake.  He knows it.  Doesn't he deserve forgiveness for his mistakes?  Isn't that what you're all about?  Forgiveness, redemption, atoning for your past sins. Or is your whole spiel on forgiveness and redemption a lie?  'Cause, if so, I guess I'm screwed."

            "No, it's not a lie-"

            "Then why don't you start practicing what you preach, Angel, instead of trying to control my life.  I'm a big girl.  I don't need you playing daddy."  Faith pushed off her seat and shoved past Angel.  She strode down the airplane and plopped into the vacant seat next to Anya, a murderous scowl adorning her features.

            "Well," Spike drawled, "you certainly fucked that one up."

            Angel cradled his head in his hands.  For once, Spike was right.  He had fucked up.  Royally.  Supremely.  In any and all ways possible he had fucked up his talk with Faith.  He just wanted to make sure she didn't get hurt by Wesley and whatever motivation was driving him to pursue his former torturer.  Maybe Angel should have stayed in Sunnydale with Fred, Gunn, Lorne, and Clem to watch over the Hellmouth, stayed far, far away from the explosive drama that was Faith and Wesley.  But he couldn't stay in Sunnydale.  He had a son to save and an evil lawyer to kill for her meddlesome tendencies.  Sighing, Angel said, "Shut up, Spike."

            "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

            "No.  The sound of your voice grating on my ear drums hurts.  I was just-"

            "What?  Trying to save the fair damsel in distress?  Swoop in with your billowing black coat and tortured morals to rescue Faith from what _you_ perceive as a mistake?"  Leaning towards Angel, Spike said, "You keep pushing her to stay away from him it'll just make her run towards him that much faster."

            "Make who run towards what?"

            Lifting his head, Angel watched Buffy sit in the seat opposite Spike, who moved his legs to let her pass, placing them outside her own, encasing her in two slim columns of black denim.  

            "Make Faith run towards Wesley," Spike said to Buffy, glancing at Angel out of the corners of his eyes.  "He tried to have 'the talk' with Faith and she damn near ripped his head off with her bare hands."

            Buffy blinked slowly.  After a moment her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in horror.  Leaning forward, she hissed, "Faith and Wesley?  _Wesley _**and_ Faith_?"**

            Spike nodded.

            "Whoa."  Slumping back in her seat, Buffy gnawed on her bottom lip and said, "Well, that was unexpected.  And also kind of disturbing."

            "My point exactly," Angel said.  "I tried to talk some sense into Faith about getting involved in Wesley-"

            Buffy snorted.  "Maybe you should talk some sense into Wesley for getting involved in Faith.  She's not exactly known for her warm and fuzzy feelings when it comes to the opposite sex."  Shaking her head, Buffy slipped into silence, hazel eyes randomly drifting around the cabin, seeing but not really seeing.  As her gaze perused the plane and her mind drifted, she gradually tensed, the muscles in her jaw tightening imperceptibly and her hands clutching the armrests.  

            Angel watched Spike lean forward and grasp her hands, pulling them off the armrests and clasping them within his own.  She smiled at Spike, body relaxing as his fingers gently stroked the pale skin of her hands.  

            "We'll get her back," Spike said softly.

            "I know.  I'm just not sure how all this will pan out.  Travers obviously isn't playing with a full deck, Tyler's just flat out psychotic, and Lilah has all the resources of hell behind her.  They have the means, motive, and opportunity to do something colossally stupid."  Buffy shook her head, drew in a deep breath, and said, "Wesley, Charles, and Emilia are going to call people they know in England, people they trust, to keep a watch on the likely airports Travers would use.  Willow couldn't find any flight plan logged by him, but Wesley thinks Travers'll land at this small airport the Council uses a lot.  Giles thought that was the likely course of action too since Travers wants to be found.  Hopefully someone will spot him and follow him back to his dungeon hide out."

            "How much longer do we have on this flight?" Angel asked.  

            "About six hours.  Six hours and then Quentin Travers is a dead man."

*                      *                      *

            "Are you sure about this?"

            "Yeah.  Totally.  Absolutely.  Sort of.  Not really, I guess, but can you think of anything else?"

            "No," Connor said to Dawn.  "Except for the fact that your wonderful idea was given to you by Lilah, who kidnapped us and wants to experiment on us in cruel and unusual ways.  She's probably lying."

            "No, she's probably telling us the truth to manipulate us so we'll fall right into whatever scheme she's cooked up."  Dawn cast an irritated glance at Connor and said, "That just means we'll have to be careful _not _to fall into her evil scheme.  Now shut up.  I need to concentrate."

            Jaw clenched in frustration, Connor stared out the window of the airplane, watching the airport runway get closer and closer until the plane landed smoothly, air rushing by the windows in a muffled roar as it slowed to a stop.  He returned his gaze to Dawn.  She held one of her small diamond earrings in her right hand and was digging the steel post into the fleshy tip of her right index finger.  A small drop of blood appeared on the pink skin.  Turning to Connor, she said, "Hold out your hands."

            "Are you sure about this?"

            "No.  But what have we got to lose?"

            He stared at her, the determination in her blue eyes making him sigh; he reluctantly shoved his shackled hands in front of Dawn, the muscles of his body tensing as she brought the bloodied fingertip towards the steel bindings.  One small droplet fell onto the steel, causing the shackles to glow blue and sparkle, electricity dancing across the metal bindings for a few moments before fading away.  

            Glancing at Connor, Dawn said, "Try it."

            Sighing again, Connor braced himself for the impending electric shocks that were soon to travel through his body and yanked his hands apart.  The chain connecting the shackles ripped in two, broken ends dangling from the cuffs still attached to his wrists.  His dark eyes flew to Dawn, whose own blue gaze was wide with shock.

            "She was right," Dawn said softly.  "Lilah was right.  I'm still the Key.  Wow."

            The airplane stopped.  Muted movement and hushed voices could be heard outside the cabin door.  Springing into actions, Dawn bent over and squeezed another drop of blood onto the shackles binding Connor's ankles.  A wave of blue light flashed across the cuffs, and Connor broke the connecting chain in two before he jumped from his seat.  

            Sliding next to the cabin door, he motioned for Dawn to duck down behind the seat.  As her head disappeared behind the grey seat, the sound of metal sliding against metal resounded through the plane as the cabin door slid slowly open.  Connor shoved back against the door, knocking the person behind it to the floor and eliciting a harsh cry of pain.  Running back to Dawn, he seized her hand and yelled, "Come on."

            They tore out of the small cabin, stepping over the unconscious body of Tyler.  As they raced down the aisle, Connor's gaze flickered to the right, locking onto Lilah.  She calmly sat in her seat and watched the two teens flee the plane without making an effort to stop them.

            A guard stepped in front of Connor, taser clenched in one of his hands.  Sidestepping the weapon, Connor threw the man into the outer wall of the plane, a hollow echo of impact emanating from the collision of flesh on metal.  Still grasping Dawn's hand, Connor ran out of the plane and into the airport.  To his right, he saw Quentin Travers standing with a group of guards, huddled deep in conversation about the proper method of transporting prisoners.  As they sprinted past them, Connor heard their shouts of recognition and the beginning of a pursuit.

            They turned a corner and ran down the hall of the deserted airport.  From one of the alcoves dotting the hallway, a hand shot out and latched onto Connor, yanking him and Dawn into a dark room.  Connor heard the door softly click shut, followed moments later by the sounds of the guards pounding past the closed door in their pursuit.

            Squinting through the darkness, Connor saw the lithe figure of a girl standing before him and Dawn.  Her hair was long, a silvery-grey color with jet black tips, and her eyes glowed from the faint light weakly illuminating the room.  

            "Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"

            "Who are you?" Dawn asked, her hand still wrapped around Connor's.  "What do you want with us?"

            "Oh.  My name is Christina.  I'm here to rescue you."  She smiled at them from across the room.  "I believe you know my mother, Emilia."         

*                      *                      *


	41. Event Horizon

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN:  So very, very excited.  Enemy won 4 awards, Best Crossover Fic and Best WIP at the Vampire Kisses Awards, as well as Best Plot and Best Ats/BtVS Crossover at Shadows and Dust Awards!  They're my first awards.  *Big grin*  

An event horizon is the distance from a black hole from which nothing can escape.  It's otherwise known as the "point of no return."  Quote used from Return of the Jedi: "Your overconfidence is your weakness." "And your faith in your friends is yours."

Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.

Chapter Forty-One: Event Horizon

By: Wynn

            "I'm sorry.  Could you repeat that?  With all the blood and ickiness and possible concussion I'm not sure I heard you right."

            "My name is Christina.  Emilia's my mother. Technically."  Christina shrugged and smoothed her silver and black hair out of her face.  "I was raised by her sister and brother-in-law."

            "Oh."  Dawn nodded, struggling to hide the confusion she knew was sweeping across her face.  A person's mind could only take so much before it entered into severe meltdown mode, and Dawn's mind was dangerously close to becoming a warm puddle of grey goo.  First, she learned she was still the Key, capable of opening mystical locks with her mystical unlocking blood.  Whatever the hell that meant.  Second, she had to deal with the fact that Lilah, _Lilah_, supposedly evil lawyer lady, helped her and Connor escape from Travers.  And now there was this English chick, who called herself Christina, claimed to be Emilia's daughter, and said she was here to rescue them.  

            Oooookay.

            Not that she and Connor needed any help.  They were only on the run from the British Intellectual Mafia, stranded in some hole in the wall airport in jolly old England with no money, no food, no shelter, and no plan whatsoever to get them out of this mess and back home in Sunnydale.

            …

            Alright, so maybe they _did _need a bit of rescuing.  But not from unknown tiny persons with really shiny hair.

            Peering through the dim room, Dawn examined Christina.  She looked a little older than Dawn, closer to Buffy's age.  Long silver hair fell down her back, tips slightly curled and inky black.  She wore cropped black and blue striped pants, a sheer black shirt over a red tank top, and pointed black boots.  Dangling earrings and sparse make-up completed the ensemble.  

            Dawn broke out of her perusal at the sound of Connor's voice.  "How do we know you're who you say you are?" he asked, dark eyes narrowing at Christina.  "Why are we supposed to trust you?"

            "I thought you were supposed to have enhanced senses, superpowers.  Can't you just tell I'm who I say I am?"

            Shifting a bit, Connor glanced at Dawn before looking at Christina again.  "No," he mumbled.

            "Well, that's disappointing, isn't it?" Christina said, her lower lip jutting out in slight pout.  "It would've been neat if you could."  She drew in a deep breath and sighed.  "My first encounter with the supernatural, besides me and my family of course, and it's turning out to be less than super."  Shaking her head, Christina crossed the room and looked closely at Connor.  Her eyes were large, with cloudy grey irises that glowed faintly in the dark room.  Scrunching up her nose, she said, "Can you do that thing with your face?"

            "What thing with my face?"

            "The bumpy forehead thing.  I saw a picture of a vampire once.  His face was all screwed, and he had the foulest teeth imaginable."

            Casting another glance at Dawn, Connor slowly shook his head.  "No.  I can't do that bumpy forehead thing.  I'm not a vampire."

            "That makes sense.  There're only faint traces of vampirism around you.  I can't be sure though.  Sparky over here's about to blind me."  Christina stepped back, a wide grin appearing on her face as she said to Connor, "Good for you though.  The vampire look is really quite dreadful, don't you think?"   

            Sparky?  Dawn pulled the sling off her arm and threw it down on the ground.  Placing her hands on her hips, she said, "_Sparky_?  I have a name.  It's Dawn.  And what the hell do you mean you can _see vampirism?"_

            An apologetic smile appeared on Christina's face.  "Sorry.  I didn't mean to offend.  You've just got the brightest life energy I've ever seen, and I've been around some real glow worms before."

            Blinking once, Dawn arched an eyebrow and said, "Would you mind a little exposition for those not in the know about your life?  You can see life energy?  How can you see life energy?  And you still didn't explain about seeing vampirism?  What is your deal?"

            Head snapping towards the closed door, Christina held her hand up in the air, signaling for silence.  Her infectious excitement melted into a subdued seriousness as she approached the door and placed a hand upon the smooth grey surface.  Drawing in a sharp intake of breath, she ran to Dawn and Connor, grabbed Dawn's arm, and began to pull them towards the opposite end of the dark room.  

            "What are you doing?" Dawn asked.  "Where're we going?"

            "Quiet," Christina whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door.

            "What do you see?" Connor asked as they reached the other side of the room.  The edge of another door was barely visible in the darkness; cardboard boxes were stacked in front of the door, the haphazard pile reaching about four feet high and stretching three feet wide.

            As she grabbed the first box and moved it off the pile, Christina said, "Nothing.  I don't see anything.  That's the problem.  Now, help me with these boxes."  They cleared the boxes from in front of the door, and Christina twisted the handle, pulling it and revealing a murky corridor on the other side.  Exposed white bulbs shined on cracked concrete at sparse intervals; the end of the passageway was not visible, swallowed in the midnight black gloom.  

            Turning to Dawn, Christina attempted to push her into the stone hallway.  Dawn jerked out from under her hands and folded her arms across her chest, adopting the patented Summers' glare of stubbornness.  "I am _not going in there.  Not until you tell me what is going on."_

            Christina reached for Dawn again.  "There isn't any time for Twenty Questions.  We need-"

            The closed front door burst open.  Light from the airport flooded the dim room, backlighting burly shapes standing within the doorframe.  One figure stepped into the room, and Dawn gasped as she recognized Quentin Travers.  He held a flat, round ebony disk in one gloved palm.  A slow smile spread across his face as he caught sight of Christina.

            "Miss Samuel.  How wonderful to see you again."

            "The pleasure's all yours, you slimy git."

            "Such harsh language from such a lovely young lady as you pains me, Miss Samuel."

            "And I feel _so_ bad about it.  Truly I do."

            A strained expression crossed Travers' face at her flippant tone.  Moving closer to Christina, Connor, and Dawn, he said, "I wondered if they would send someone here to wait and see if I would arrive.  I never expected it would be you."

            "Happy to disappoint you."

            "On the contrary Miss Samuel, I am far from disappointed.  You see, aside from Miss Summers and the young man here, you are the one thing in this world I have longed to study the most."  His thin lips curved into a smug grin.  "Remind me to thank your parents for presenting me with the opportunity."  The smile faded off his face, replaced by a cold, indifferent mask.  "Seize them."

            Four hefty shapes ambled into the room, moving towards Dawn, Connor, and Christina.  Stepping in front of Dawn and Connor, Christina held up her hand and the four men stopped in their tracks, eyes widening and muscles straining against whatever bond held them in their place.  She pointed towards the door and said, "Turn.  Walk to the door."  Like marionettes controlled by a puppet master, the four men stiffly turned and moved back toward the door, their movements jerky as their joints locked in protest.  

            "Impressive," Travers said, delight shining in his eyes.  "Most impressive."

            Teeth gritted, Christina said, "Dawn… Go.  Now."

            "I don't think so," Travers said.  He moved towards Christina, the ebony disk gripped tightly in his hand.  As he drew closer, she fell back, dropping to one knee, body starting to shudder violently.  The four men slowed to a stop, remaining motionless before the open door.  Smirking, Travers glanced down at the disk in his hand and said, "An event horizon.  It sucks all available psychic energy into it, creating a sort of black hole amongst psychic waves.  It's particularly dangerous to those with enhanced psychic abilities."

            "Go…" Christina said to Dawn and Connor.  Her face was ashen, mouth pressed into a thin, hard line.

            Dawn looked from Travers to Christina to the four men, who shook off whatever control Christina had over them and started walking towards her and Connor, weapons drawn and at the ready.  "But…"

            "Go!"  Over her shoulder, Christina locked eyes with Dawn.  "Now!"  She lifted her hand and Dawn stumbled back into the murky corridor, her hand latching on to Connor and dragging him with her.  The door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into the dank dark.  Dawn shook her head, clearing the fog that had invaded her mind when Christina looked at her.  Her conscious control over her body had faded; Dawn felt as though she had had the reins of power snatched from her and her body moved against her will, making her fall into the dark passageway.  So not an experience she wanted to have again.  

            Standing, Connor pulled Dawn to her feet and started down the corridor.  His hand was tight on her wrist, the muscles in his hand like cords of steel beneath his callused skin.

            "What about Christina?"

            "We can't do anything for her now," Connor said.  "They would have captured us too if we would have stayed.  We need to get help."

            A muffled cry sounded through the corridor, and Dawn's blood froze in her veins as she recognized the scream as Christina's.  Wood scraping against concrete followed the cry; thudding footsteps echoed in the stone hall.  Connor tightened his hold on her arm, and they raced down the corridor, speeding through shafts of brilliant white light interspersed with pools of shadows, the strobe like effect dazzling Dawn's eyes.  They arrived at the end of the hall, where it branched off into opposite directions, the twin hallways twisting into oblivion.

            "Which way do we go?" she asked.  The sounds of pursuit grew louder in the hall as Travers' men drew closer.  Dawn nervously looked from one path to the other.

            "This way," Connor said as he pulled her into the left pathway.  The corridor slanted down as they ran, and they slid across the slick stone ground.  They ran twenty… thirty… forty feet and the passageway forked again.  Darting into the right branch, Dawn could see light at the end of the hall, a hazy whiteness against the all encompassing black.  

            "Look!"

            "I see it," Connor said.  He increased their pace, and she struggled to keep up.  Her muscles began to burn in her body; she drew in gasping breaths of air.  She could hear their pursuers closing in on them with each passing second, and Dawn knew she would never make it to the light and to whatever lay beyond it before the men reached them.  But Connor could.  If he let her go.  If he left her behind.  He could outrun the men and be able to contact someone who would help.

            "Connor…"

            His dark eyes darted towards her.  "What?"  

            Something pale and blurred shot out from the left side of the corridor, crashing into Connor's face.  His hand was wrenched from hers as he collided with the stone wall, the impact of skull on stone a sickening crack in the corridor.  He slumped to the ground, blood dripping down his face, fighting to stay conscious.  "Dawn… look…"

            She slowly turned from Connor, mouth going dry, eyes wide with fear as her blue gaze locked onto the feral grin of Tyler.  Rooted to the spot, icy snakes of panic slinking through her body, Dawn opened her mouth to scream an instant before his fist shot out and struck her, sending the world into dizzying swirls and then blackness.

*                      *                      *

            She was bored.  There was no other word for it.  Lilah was bored.  It was an emotion she rarely, if ever, felt.  She was intelligent, rich, and beautiful; she worked for a demonically controlled law firm.  Her life never lacked excitement.  Until now.  Now was the hurry up and wait phase of what she dubbed "The Plan."  Phase One of "The Plan" had gone off without a hitch; the Summers brat knew of her existing Key related abilities and had immediately put her mystical blood to the test on the specially designed Wolfram and Hart shackles Lilah had conveniently placed on Connor.  It was too bad the brat and her boy weren't smart enough to actually escape.  Although the twenty minute will-they-or-won't-they-escape had provided a break from the boredom, as had the unexpected arrival of the other girl, but thrill had worn off and everything was soon back to business as usual.  Scheme.  Gloat.  Repeat.  And Lilah couldn't complete Phase Two of "The Plan" until Angel and his merry band of men rode in on their shiny white horses, with their heads held high, shoulders thrust back, and virtue waving behind them like big, bright flags.  And surprise, surprise, they were late.    

            Typical.

            But it wasn't as though death was imminent for Dawn and Connor.  They were bait, irresistible lures dangling in front of the California White Hats to pull them into Travers' trap.  And no doubt Angel, Buffy, and crew knew this fact and were thus taking their sweet time in arriving, all the while planning the best way to rescue the babes in distress and vanquish the black hearted foe.

            Still, Lilah wished they would hurry their pristine asses up.  Show a little initiative.  Put on the thermal boosters for that extra burst of speed.  Otherwise she was stuck in Watcher Central for longer than absolutely necessary, forced to listen to Quentin Travers brag about the genius of his devious plot or to Tyler rant about his severe beat down at the hands of Anya.  Both of which were boring, boring, boring.  Lilah had things to do and playing audience to one psychotic man's delusional fantasies of revenge was not one of them.  Lilah shook her head.  Men.  If it's not sex on the brain, it's violence.  If it's not violence, it's evil schemes to take over the world.  If it's not evil schemes to take over the world, it's back to sex.  

            Typical and boring.  

            Although not all men were that monotonous.  Angel, on occasion, had proven to be very interesting, particularly in his less soulful days.  And from all her gathered intel, Spike was a bundle of interesting contradictions, so much so that it was damn near impossible to predict what he would do next.  Lindsay, despite all his other faults, could never be described as boring or monotonous.  And Wesley…  A slow grin curved Lilah's lips.  Wesley was a cornucopia of interesting layers and facets, all bundled together under one sexy, scarred surface.  Definitely a far cry from the simpering do-gooder of old.  Maybe that was the key to salvation from monotony: moral ambiguity covered in a sexily scarred exterior.  It worked for Lilah.   

            "Are you even listening to me?"

            "Not remotely," Lilah said smoothly, flashing Tyler a saccharine sweet smile.  They were in Travers' office.  Dark wood permeated the spacious office.  Bookcases stretched along three walls housing the requisite amount of musty leather bound books and various rare and expensive supernatural objects.  Interspersed around the cases were heavy oil paintings depicting scenes of battlefield blood and gore.  A massive desk resided in the center of the room, surrounded by three lush leather chairs.  "Why would I want to listen to your oh so eloquent bitching and moaning about your little cuts and bruises?" Lilah asked.  "You can't even handle a few bruises and broken ribs."  She shook her head sadly.  "And you call yourself a real man…"

            Eyes narrowed, Tyler said, "I'd like to see you go toe to toe with a Vengeance Demon, sweetheart.  You'd be dead before you could even breathe."

            "Ah, no, I wouldn't."

            "And why is that?"

            "Because I wouldn't be stupid enough to get myself into a situation where I would have to go 'toe to toe' with a Vengeance Demon.  It's called possessing a modicum of intelligence.  You had the chance to let Faith go, but you chose to play Jack the Ripper and thus had to pay the consequences.  Deal with it."

            Tyler shook his head as he paced back and forth in front of Lilah.  Bruises still marred his face and neck, courtesy of Anya's vengeance induced beating.  Cream colored bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso, binding his broken ribs.  "No," he said.  "That's not intelligence.  That's cowardice."

            "So says the walking bruise."  Stifling an eye roll, Lilah said, "Might I make one suggestion though?"

            "You might."

            Leaning forward in her chair, Lilah brought forth a condescendingly concerned expression upon her face and locked eyes with Tyler.  "Next time you come across Anya, particularly after you've pissed her off by trying to murder her best friend, don't try to play Superman.  There might not be someone around to save your miserable life."

            "I won't need someone around.  Next time I'll be prepared."  Off of Lilah's skeptical expression, Tyler continued, "You think all I've done for the past day is bitch and moan about my cuts and bruises?  Hardly.  The Council has the best archive this side of the Atlantic of ways to kill demons.  All kinds of demons.  Including Vengeance Demons.  A little research here, a little research there, and bam!  The most effective way of slicing and dicing a Vengeance Demon."  He plopped down onto the chair beside her, mouth twisting into a predatory grin.  "So next time I come across Miss Demonic Goldilocks, and believe me when I say I will come across her again, she'll be the one walking away with the cuts and bruises.  That is, if she walks away at all."

*                      *                      *

            The first thing Christina noticed was darkness.  She tried to open her eyes but found to her horror that they were already open and staring blindly out into the world that she could no longer see.  It was then she felt the cool touch of metal on her forehead.  She knew the metal encased a modified event horizon and that no matter how much she wriggled or shifted the metal band would not miraculously slip off her head, allowing her to see again.  For the metal band was an inhibitor, a man made device constructed to contain any and all psychic abilities, ranging from telepathy to telekinesis, from soul reading to her own psychic sight.  Inhibitors were specially constructed for one person, magically calibrated using the darkest of dark magicks to that person's unique brain patterns, an unfortunate turn of events that prevented the wearer of the band from removing it from his or her head.  Only another person would be able to remove the inhibitor from her head, and Christina knew there wouldn't be anyone around for miles willing to help her.

            Damn Travers.

            Christina wondered how he knew of her unique condition, her physical blindness and her psychic sight.  Her grey eyes saw nothing, but the dark recesses of her mind saw everything, her brain waves bouncing off the outside world and reflecting it back to her like bat sonar.  Not something that happened everyday, or every millennia, and it was all thanks to her inimitable heritage.  Children of elves and humans were rare, the resulting offspring a strange hybrid of the two different species; Christina's Elfish psychic abilities twisted in such a way as to account for her physical human blindness, which was a result of her mixed DNA.  Talk about irony.  She wouldn't be blind if she wasn't half Elf, but she wouldn't be able to see with her mind if she wasn't half Elf.  Her family had done everything in their power to hide her strange abilities from the rest of the world, particularly from men like Quentin Travers, whose obsessive drive for knowledge took no account of right or wrong, who only saw Christina as a human sized science experiment to be manipulated and tested at their whim.

            Bastard.         

            The second thing Christina noticed was pain.  Dull.  Throbbing.  Inside her head.  Overextension of one's psychic abilities coupled with a meaty fist slamming into one's temple led to dull throbbing pain and concussions.  But not to the sharp, stinging pain down in her arm.  She tried moving her arm and ridding herself of the sharp pain jabbing into her arm, briefly panicking when she realized both of her arms were strapped down, tied to the smooth, hard chair beneath her body and immobilized by thick bands.  Her feet were also bound to the chair.  

            One Christina Ariana Samuel reporting for experimentation.

            She shook her head softly and sighed.  It was her own fault she was captured by Travers.  She knew Charles and Emilia had used her as a last resort and sent her to the least likely airport Travers would fly to, sent her there with instructions only to observe and not to interfere.  But they hadn't known Travers would choose that airport and that Connor and Dawn would be able to escape.  What was she supposed to do?  Sit there and watch those two run for their lives while she twiddled her thumbs?  She couldn't do that.  She wouldn't do that.  So she interfered.  But her excitement at finally being able to do something, anything, other than sit in her gilded cage far, far away from Quentin Travers had briefly overshadowed her common sense, costing Dawn and Connor precious seconds, and resulted in her capture.

            Definitely not the brightest thing Christina had ever done in her life.  But she didn't regret it.  Inaction was far worse than action, even if the action was the kind that led straight to kidnapping and experimentation.  For at least now she was within striking distance of Travers, the man who had ordered the death of her aunt Ariana, who had been her mother most of her life.  

            She felt something slide out of her right arm.  A needle.  Great.  Struggling against her bonds, Christina froze as she heard the cold voice of Quentin Travers.

            "It is quite useless to struggle, Miss Samuel," he said from somewhere off to her left.  "Those restraints are quite strong.  I doubt even a Slayer could break them, much less a half-breed Elf."

            "It doesn't matter what you do to me," Christina said, tilting her chin into the air.  "You can kill me, but you're still going to die."

            "Young lady, I hardly think you are in the position to make threats, idle as they may be."

            "It's not a threat.  It's a fact."

            "A fact?  Really.  Are you having a portent of the future?" Travers asked his voice tinged with barest hint of excitement.  "I didn't think you possessed the ability of divination.  Fascinating."

            "It's not a portent of the future, you halfwit.  It's just a fact.  Call it karma, if you want a fancy name.  You killed my mother.  You will die.  Simple as that."

            "I have no idea what you're talking about.  Your meddlesome mother is still alive, undoubtedly working on a plan to rescue you along with Miss Summers and the vampire spawn.  Pity your fantasy of revenge will have to remain only that, a fantasy."

            "I never said I would be the one to kill you.  I just said you would die.  Ariana was a good, kind woman who you ruthlessly had murdered.  If there's any justice at all to the universe, you will pay for her death with your life."

            "Miss Samuel," Travers said condescendingly, "you will soon realize that there is no such thing as a cosmic scale of balance that weighs one's sins against one's virtues, or one's crimes against one's punishments.  There is only the strong and the weak, the powerful and the powerless.  And no amount of wishing by a deluded child will change that."                    

            "I suppose you think you're powerful.  But whatever power you have is from manipulation and fear and that never survives.  Never."

            Sighing, Travers said, "I grow tired of this conversation."  

            "And I grow tired of you sticking sharp objects in my arm.  I guess we're both out of luck."

            "You're right on one count.  You, my dear, are very much out of luck.  I, on the other hand, am not.  You think your family will come storming in and rescue you from the Big Bad Wolf, all the while saving the day and defeating the enemy.  The world does not work like that.  I have not made it that way."

            "Your overconfidence is your weakness."

            "And your faith in your friends is yours.  They may be effective against demons and vampires and other supernatural creatures, but this is an altogether different playing field.  The Council has influence in virtually every walk of life, from the worlds of finance and business to the realm of the judicial and governmental.  The brute force utilized by the Slayers and their friends is of no use here.  The sooner you realize that the better.  There will be no miraculous rescue.  Your family and friends are walking into a trap, and they are going to die.  Nothing you can do will prevent this.  Nothing." 

*                      *                      *  
  



	42. Family

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: To refresh memories of everything that occurred prior to chapter forty-two, please go to my site and click the link "Summary" located in the AN of Chapter Forty-Two.

Enemy's picked up four new nominations.  *Happy dance*  Best Original Character and Best General Saga for Round 3 of the Spuffy Awards, as well as Best WIP and Best Long Story for Round 2 of Eternal Devotion.  Many, many thanks to everyone who nominated!

Many many thanks to my beta SpikeLover7 for everything!

Chapter Forty-Two: Family

By: Wynn

            The London flat was small and nondescript with dirty white walls, dingy grey carpeting, and dust coated widows.  Battered furniture, including two long tables, ten or twelve folding chairs, and three metal bookcases, filled the main room to capacity.  Off to the right lay a tiny kitchenette, populated with a dish-filled sink, a smeared microwave, and note covered mini-refrigerator.  A narrow hallway branched off from the main room, leading to three closed doors.    

            Giles entered the flat, grey eyes flickering across the three people moving about the cramped room.  A red haired boy slouched on a folding chair, head bent over a black laptop computer, fingers dancing across the keys in rapid precision.  His clothes, an odd assortment of colors and patterns, were rumpled, and he wore day glow orange sneakers.    Kneeling before one of the bookcases was a tiny woman with short blonde hair; she was immaculately dressed in grey linen slacks, cerulean silk shirt, and shiny black pumps.  And sitting at the head of one of the long tables was a burly black man in a tight white t-shirt and black pants whose scarred fingers were tracing a line of text on a yellow piece of parchment.

            "Simmons?" Giles asked as he walked across the room.

            Head snapping up, David Simmons broke into a wide grin as his eyes focused on Giles.  The two men had worked together at the Watcher's Council during the few years preceding Giles' move to Sunnydale; frequent encounters in the Council's archives led to spirited conversations about prophecy translations and ancient texts before evolving into genuine friendship.  Simmons pushed away from the table and moved towards Giles.  "Rupert!" he said as he clasped one of Giles' hands within his own, his voice booming throughout the tiny flat.  "Good to see you.  How was the flight?"

            "Long."  Giles glanced over his shoulder at Charles, who had followed him into the flat along with Buffy, Emilia, and the rest of the gang.  Charles nodded at Simmons before walking towards the boy with the computer.  Looking back at Simmons, Giles said, "I didn't know you knew Charles."

            "We taught at the Watcher's Academy together.  He did weapons training while I covered ancient prophecies.  We bonded over our mutual non-geekdom." Simmons' coffee colored eyes slid from Giles over to Wesley.  "No offense, Pryce."

            "None taken, Simmons," Wesley said, a smirk appearing on his face as he sat in Simmons' recently vacated chair.  "Not everyone, I'm afraid, is blessed with your particular brand of charm.  The rest of us plebeians must make due solely with our stimulating intellect and biting wit."  Wesley's eyes quickly skimmed the faded parchment and one of his brows arched in appreciation.  "Translating the Babylonian Codex?  Impressive."

            "I thought so," Simmons said, a broad grin curving his lips.  "It's not so hard once you've determined all the different dialects used in writing the prophecies.  There're only twenty-five or so.  Then you have to decrypt the three different encryption schemes and those can be a bit tricky."  Simmons looked at Giles and winked.  "But it's all child's play really.  Just something to do while I waited for you stuffed shirts to arrive."

            "Yes, I'm sure," Wesley murmured as he flipped through the stack of notebook pages lying next to the parchment.  "Of course you do know that the keys to translating three of the ancient dialects were lost in the massive fire that destroyed the Watcher's Council back in the late 1600s.  If I remember correctly, those dialects were crucial to understanding the final sections of the Codex."

            "Yes, they were lost.  But a little cross referencing with the Watcher's journals from back in the day revealed enough fragments of the dialect keys to allow Junior over here to construct a sampling database and compare the pieces of the keys to the Codex."  Glancing at Giles, Simmons said, "I believe a similar technique was used to translate the ritual of soul restoration in Sunnydale a few years ago."

            Giles nodded, mouth flattening into a grim line.

            Rubbing a hand over his short black hair, Simmons stared at Giles for a moment longer before turning back to Wesley.  Forcing a jovial grin upon his face, he said, "Step into the Technological Age, Pryce.  You'll be amazed at what's possible."

            "Just pass me a feathered quill and a piece of parchment and I'll be sure to write myself a reminder."

            Taking advantage of the resumed bantering between Simmons and Wesley, Giles turned and walked over to the closest metal bookcase.  Memories of Jenny were invading his consciousness more and more since his heated conversation with Emilia about her deception.  Circumstances had only allowed for the briefest of reconciliations between Giles and Jenny before her death.  What sort of circumstances would the upcoming confrontation with Travers bring to Giles' tentative, recently renewed relationship with Emilia?  Would history repeat itself and abort any chance for reconciliation with Emilia?  Would he sit idly by, saddled by his wounded pride and righteous anger, and let her walk away from him again, as she did twenty years ago?

            Sighing, Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Cords of tension wound throughout his entire body.  He did not need to ruminate on personal problems and exacerbate the stress level inside his body any more.  There were more pressing matters to deal with.  Rescuing Dawn and Connor.  Dealing with Travers, Lilah, and Tyler.  A cool level head was needed, not one filled with rage.

            Replacing his glasses, Giles looked at the metal bookcase before him.  Cardboard boxes filled with surveillance equipment lined the top two shelves; manila envelopes were stacked haphazardly across the middle shelf; leather bound texts spanned the lengths of the bottom two rows.  Crouching, Giles scanned the books, surprise flitting across his face at the sight of a copy of his Watcher's journal buried amongst the volumes.  He slid the journal out from beneath the texts and flipped open the cracked cover.  It was his second journal, detailing his second year in Sunnydale.  Angelus.  Acathla.  Spike and Drusilla.  Jenny.

            History rearing its ugly head once again.            

            "Reliving past memories?"

            Closing the book with a snap, Giles shoved the journal back onto the shelf and stood, eyes growing cold and hard at the sight of the slim blonde woman before him.  Her green eyes were alight with unabashed curiosity, her demeanor aloof and composed.  Diamond hoops glittered from her ears; a sapphire and emerald choker wound around her throat two times.  She held out one delicate hand and said, "My name is Emma Rochester.  I don't believe we've met."

            "No, we haven't," Giles said without taking her hand.  "But I still know who you are."

            "You do, do you?" she asked in a crisp, clipped voice.

            "Yes.  Most unfortunately your reputation precedes you."

            A cool smile appeared on Emma's face.  Retracting her proffered hand, she said, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Giles.  And if I may offer a piece of advice, it would do you good to play nice.  Remember we are all here for the same purpose."

            "And what exactly is that?  Career advancement?  Seizing the opportunity to brush up on the latest backstabbing techniques?"

            Ignoring his remarks, Emma moved over to the bookshelf and extracted Giles' journal.  She opened the book and flipped through the photocopied pages.  "A most fascinating read at the Council, Mr. Giles," Emma said, her eyes alighting with a malicious joy.  "Quite the page turner.  I must say allowing your Slayer to date a vampire is most unorthodox."

            "Yes, well, Buffy is an unorthodox Slayer."

            "If you mean unorthodox in the manner of dangerous and unruly, then I'm inclined to agree with you.  Her first relationship with a vampire involved homicide, psychological torture, and an attempted apocalyptic event.  And now she is seeing a second vampire, the one called Spike, who has slain two Slayers in his hundred and thirty years of carnage."  Emma looked up from the journal, a saccharine sweet smile upon her face.  "Your Slayer isn't the brightest of the bunch, is she?"

            Drawing in a calming breath, Giles said through a clenched jaw, "Buffy is the brightest young woman I have ever met, and she is the best Slayer the world has seen in three hundred years."

            "Which is why the Council is trying to kill her, I presume."

            "The Council is trying to kill Buffy because it is lorded over by a power hungry megalomaniac, not because of anything Buffy has done or failed to do.  And if I may offer you a piece of advice, Ms. Rochester, I would cease all comments upon Buffy, her private life, and her Slaying capabilities.  You might not like some of the reactions to your opinions."

            Green eyes sparkling, Emma looked across the room, her gaze drifting over the faces of the Scoobies.  "Ah, yes.  Her mongrel friends.  Not limited to but including a psychotic Slayer, a former Vengeance demon, an unstable witch, and a lowly carpenter.  Quite the formidable group, I'm sure."  Her gaze shifted again, and a slow grin spread across her face.  "Or maybe you're referring to her pet vampire protectors."  An unreadable expression crossed her face as she stared at Angel and Spike.  "Tell me, Rupert," she said softly, "how does it feel to sit on the wayside and watch as your Slayer grows ever closer to these two caged vampires?  Do you lay awake at night and worry about her welfare, worry whether or not the night will come when one of the two will break through their mystic chains and turn your precious Slayer?  Would you be able to find the strength to overcome your inevitable incapacitating guilt and stake her?  Or would you foolishly try to save her-"

            "Enough."

            "Hey, Emma," a soft voice said from behind Giles.  "Charles wants to talk to you.  Now."

            Fists clenched, Giles glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with the skinny red head.  He flashed Giles an apologetic smile then returned his blue gaze to Emma.  In a slow Southern drawl, he said, "He wants an update on the Travers watch."

            "Of course," Emma said as she closed the journal.  Placing the book into Giles' hand, she said, "Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Giles.  I do wish we could continue discussing your charge and her… acquaintances, but duty calls."  She brushed past Giles, shot the red headed boy a vicious look, and made her way over to Charles.

            "Don't pay attention to her, Mr. Giles," the boy said as Giles turned towards him.  His skin was pale and lightly dusted with freckles.  His copper colored hair was long, tendrils brushing across his shoulders in slight curls; black eyes stared out from beneath small silver glasses.  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn jean jacket and said, "She hasn't done anything but bitch and complain and stir up trouble since the second she walked in the door.  Simmons contemplated throwing her out the window at the end of the first day, but Christina told him the sidewalk outside didn't deserve to be 'rudely thrashed by an insufferable, snooty know-it-all.'"

            Giles unclenched his fists and smiled wanly at the boy.  "I quite agree.  I'm surprised Simmons was able to last an entire day around Emma Rochester."

            The boy smiled.  "It was touch and go there for a while, but Mr. Pryce talked to Emma and she laid off the attitude around Simmons.  The rest of us weren't quite so lucky.  She was still Super-Bitch Queen twenty-four seven.  I don't know why Charles keeps her around.  He swears she's an important part of the team, but I'm not convinced.  Everyone hates her, and I don't see how she can help if everyone hates her."

            "It would seem to pose a problem."  Giles cast another glance at Emma, eyes clouding over in anger as she caught his stare and smirked at him.  Tearing his gaze away from her, Giles looked at the boy and said, "I'm sorry.  I don't believe I caught your name."

            The boy blushed.  "Sorry.  I, um, forgot to introduce myself.  It happens.  I tend to run off on long, unnecessary tangents.  I've tried to pick up some of that trademark British stoicism, but it just doesn't stick.  It sort of bounces off me like oil on water."  The boy frowned.  After a moment he shook his head and said, "Ok.  That didn't make much sense.  I don't think oil bounces.  But it would be cool if it did though."  He paused again and the frown deepened upon his face.  "On second thought, I think it would be more gross than cool, so scratch the whole oil bouncing riff from the record."

            Giles nodded sagely, struggling to stifle the urge to grin.  "I apologize again.  I still haven't caught your name.  The memory starts to fade as one grows older."

            Blushing harder, the boy pulled one hand from the pocket on his jacket and held it out to Giles.  "Sorry.  Again.  I can't help myself.  Instead of open mouth insert foot it's open mouth exit continuous never ending chatter.  But that's besides the point, as I'm sure you know, so I'll stop now."  He smiled at Giles as they shook hands, his dark eyes sparkling with self-deprecating humor.  A few seconds passed and the smile faded off his face as his eyes widened.  "And I still haven't told you my name.  At least I remembered before you had to remind me again.  I'm Jeremy Samuel."

            "Samuel?" Giles asked.  "Are you related to Charles?"

            "Yeah.  He's my brother.  Half-brother actually."

            "You're not British though."

            Jeremy shook his head.  He stuffed his hand back inside his jacket pocket and said, "No.  Born and bred in the good old U.S.A.  My father, Charles' dad, suffered one of those mid-life crisis things and fled to the States when Charles was a few years older than me.  I guess he was twenty-three, twenty-four.  Anyway, my father met my mom and out I popped eleven months later."  Jeremy shuffled slightly and glanced down at the floor.  "He-"      

            "Jeremy!"

            Starting at Charles' call, Jeremy said, "What?"

            Charles strode across the room, his broad features pinched in anger and worry.  "Emma says Christina hasn't returned.  How long has she been gone?"

            Jeremy pulled up the sleeve of his jean jacket and looked at the silver watch on his wrist.  "Not too long.  Only about… four and a half hours," he finished lamely.  He blinked once and hastily shoved the jacket sleeve back over his watch.  "I, uh, didn't realize.  Stefan didn't call in or anything, so I'm sure everything's Ok."

            Charles stared at Jeremy for a few moments before he said, "She probably gave him the slip.  Goddamn stubborn girl.  I told her to stay with Stefan.  She promised me she would or I wouldn't have let her go to that damn airport."  He shook his head.  Jaw clenched in frustration, he said, "And instead of calling and telling us like he's supposed to, Stefan's probably out looking for her himself, trying to avoid getting into trouble.  Again."

            "You can't blame Christina for running away from Stefan," Emilia said as she approached the three men.  Her eyes were calm and her voice composed.  Only the faint twisting of her emerald top by her slim fingers indicated her nervousness.  "You've barely let her out of the flat in the past year, and when you have she's been more heavily guarded than the Queen."

            "And with good reason," Charles said, his eyes flashing as he squared off against Emilia.  "I wasn't going to let that bastard get within one mile of her."

            "And in the process you've completely denied her any chance for a life.  That isn't how Ariana would want Christina to live."

            Jeremy nodded.  "Emilia's right, you know.  Christina hated having Stefan around.  She told me he creeped her out.  Something about mouth breathing I think."

            "At least he kept her safe and out of trouble!"

            "Oh, he has, has he?" Emilia said, voice laden with sarcasm.  "And what exactly do you call this situation now if not trouble?"

            "I'd call it an exercise of Christina's damn Smith stubborn streak.  She knows how dangerous it is for her to run around unprotected, especially in London, yet she still chooses to go traipsing all across the city like-"

            "-like a twenty year old woman who shouldn't be locked away for the rest of her life just because there are dangerous people in the world."

            A tense silence descended upon Charles, Emilia, and Jeremy.  Giles glanced from one face to the other, taking in the pinched mouths and worried eyes.  Apparently this was one of the unforeseen calamitous circumstances that would surround the confrontation with Travers.  Clearing his throat, Giles said, "Who is Christina?"

            Emilia blanched as her violet eyes snapped towards Giles' face.  Tongue darting out to moisten her lips, she said, "Christina is… um… she's-"

            "-my daughter," Charles said, dark eyes catching Emilia's.  The two stared at one another for a few seconds before Emilia slowly nodded her head.  Charles looked from Emilia to Jeremy and said, "Get Stefan on the phone and find out where he last saw her.  Then send Riggs and Havermeyer to look in that area for any sign of her."  He turned from Jeremy and walked over to Simmons.  "Simmons."

            Simmons looked up from his piece of parchment and said, "Yeah?"

            "Can you go to the airport Christina was assigned to and see if she's there or if she was there?"

            Simmons nodded and pushed away from the long table.  He reached underneath the table and removed a grey duffle bag, from which he extracted a nylon shoulder holster containing one handgun and one tazer.  He slid on the shoulder holster and removed a black jacket from the bag.  Slipping on the jacket, Simmons crossed the room and leaned close to Emilia, whispering something in her ear.  She squeezed his hand, and he flashed a reassuring grin.  Nodding once to Giles, Simmons walked across the room, opened the door, and left the flat.

            "Emma," Charles said as the flat door closed.  "Tell everyone everything you told me about Travers.  Answer any questions they may have.  We're going in tonight."

            Emma nodded.

            Without another word, Charles strode from the main room into the hallway and disappeared through one of the three closed doors dotting the hall.  Giles glanced around the room, gaze flickering across the stunned, speechless faces of the Scoobies, and he sighed as Emma stepped before him, a broad triumphant grin upon her face as she said, "Well, let's get started, shall we?"

*                      *                      *

            The photograph was taken on a bright summer day three years ago.  A family trip to the south of France, one of the few vacations the Council would allow Charles to have from his surveillance job in Sunnydale.  A colorful striped beach blanket laid spread beneath the three Smith women, their heads thrown back in raucous laughter, their silver hair gleaming in the bright sunlight.  Ariana in her periwinkle one piece, Christina in a tie dyed bikini, Emilia in a lavender top and matching sarong.  He can't remember exactly what they were laughing about.  Undoubtedly some private joke known only to the three of them.    

            They were happy.  Carefree.  Alive.

            They were his girls, his family, each woman vexing and pushing him with their fierce independence while charming and beguiling him with their compassionate generosity.  But everything was now shattered, splintered.  Ariana dead.  Christina kidnapped.  Emilia nervous and preoccupied and frayed.  And it was all because of Quentin Travers.

            Charles' grip on the frame tightened as he trailed one finger across Ariana's face.  He hadn't believed in such a sissy concept as love at first sight until she opened the door to her flat, cerulean eyes blazing at him as he cradled Emilia's trembling body in his arms.  She was all biting words and venomous glares, and he was in love.  Hopelessly, pathetically in love with a vibrant, strong, tempestuous woman.    

            And now Ariana was gone, taken from him, from Christina, from Emilia forever.  No more spitfire temper or giddy laughter or dry humor.  No more late night chocolate fudge brownie fests or Monty Python marathons or off key singing to the radio.  Everything gone.  And it was all because of Travers.

            And all he had left was Christina and Emilia, and undoubtedly the bastard had reached out with his grubby, power addicted fingers, snatched Christina, and shipped her off to some secret laboratory hideaway in the Council Headquarters.  His daughter, by fatherly feelings if not by trivialities like genetics, who he had done everything in his power to protect, even if that meant distancing himself from her, both physically and emotionally, kidnapped by maniacal maniac in accordance with his maniacal schemes.    

            "Is that your wife?"

            Charles' head snapped up as he covered the picture with his hands.  He hadn't heard the door open, and he hadn't felt the slight pressure of the person sitting beside him sit down on the bed.  He had been too caught up in his pain to notice much of anything except his pain.  

            It was the red headed witch.  Willow.  She stared at him, her green eyes large and shining with compassion and sympathy.  Charles shifted on the bed and stuffed the framed photograph back into the open nightstand drawer.  

            "She looks like Emilia," Willow said as he slammed the drawer shut.  

            "She's taller."

            Willow nodded.  "Who was the girl in the middle?  Christina?"

            "Yes."

            "She looks like Emilia, too."

            He glanced at her, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.  

            Willow shrugged in embarrassment.  "Aura reading.  It's one of the things I've been practicing since… since I left the coven.  It's a more positive, earth magic.  Less destructive and end of the world-y."  She paused and glanced towards the closed door.  "Emilia's aura.  It's stressed on a basic, primal level, like a mother worried over her child."  Willow looked at him again.  "It's like yours, but stronger, more intense."

            Charles turned away from her probing eyes and let his gaze roam around the spartan bedroom.  A full bed lay in the center of the room; two nightstands resided on either side of the bed.  A chest of drawers sat against one wall, and a mirrored closet lined the opposite wall.  Clean and functional.  No sentimentality here.  Just the basic necessities to wage his private war against Travers.

            "Plus I kind of saw the not-so-subtle significant glance between you and Emilia when Giles asked you two about Christina."

            "Oh."

            "I won't say anything, so don't worry," Willow said quickly.  "I've gotten much better with being in the know of stuff that other people don't know and not letting them know that I know something they don't know."  She paused and glanced down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.  "Plus everyone here's pretty much wrapped up in their own issues to notice my usual signs of knowing unknowable knowledge."

            "Are they?"

            "Yeah.  Buffy and Spike are stressed over Dawn, and Angel and Cordelia are worried about Connor.  Faith and Wesley are wrapped up in whatever… thing they have going between them, and Anya and Xander are dealing with typical jilted exes in close proximity issues.  Giles is trying his best to avoid Emilia and Emma while providing ample support for Buffy."

            "What about you?" Charles asked as he looked at Willow.

            Willow shrugged.  "The residual pain of loss, probably the worst sort of pain and the biggest of the big issues there are."  She paused again and glanced at him.  "You know the pain."

            His dark eyes darted towards the closed nightstand drawer.  "Yes," he murmured.  "I suppose I do."       

            A minute of silence passed before Willow spoke again.  "Can I ask you a question?"

            "What?"

            "How did she die?  You, you don't have to tell me, obviously, and I know it's rude of me to ask, and I've probably offended you, but-"

            "No.  No, it's alright."  Charles stared straight ahead at the dull white walls, memories projecting upon the blank surface like a movie from a projector.  "She… she… The Watcher stabbed her, gutted her, left her for dead.  He just left her.  Didn't… didn't even bother closing her eyes.  We… I… didn't find her for two days."

            "Oh god."

            "God had nothing to do with it.  Only a person who thinks himself God."  

            Silence once again stretched between the two, silence loud with remembrances and flashbacks of happier times, of times taken for granted because the future still lay before them uncharted and endless, times abruptly snatched by the cold, cruel hand of violence.  "My girlfriend died six months ago," Willow said softly, her voice shattering the silence like a sledgehammer.  "She was shot.  The guy didn't even want to shoot her.  He was after Buffy, and Tara was in the wrong place at the right time."  Her voice dropped to a tremulous whisper.  "She was shot through the heart.  She didn't even know.  She thought something was wrong with me.  Then she was just… gone."

            "Why are you telling me this?"

            Willow looked at him through a filmy veil of tears.  "I know how you feel.  I know what you feel.  I know what you want to do to Travers because it's the same stuff I did to the guy who took Tara from me.  I didn't care about anything but revenge because I didn't think I had anything left, and it almost cost me everything.  My friends.  My life.  And it's not what Tara would have wanted."  She pushed off the bed and retrieved the picture from the nightstand drawer.  She gazed down at the three smiling women and said, "I don't know you that well, or at all really, and it's probably not my place to be giving you advice on your life, but it looks to me like you have two reasons to live here other than revenge.  Try to keep them in mind when you come face to face with Travers.  They shouldn't have to lose you, too." 

*                      *                      *

            "God, I am so bored."

            Cordelia sank into a metal folding chair, dramatically threw her head back, closed her eyes, and rested the back of her hand upon her forehead.  Cracking open one eye, she peered across the table at Wesley, who stared at her with a faintly surprised expression upon his face, his hands still resting on the stack of papers he had been flipping through before her arrival.  The lecture on Travers, London, and proper flossing techniques from the Wicked Witch of the West, otherwise known as Emma Rochester to those that know and loathe her, still raged behind Cordelia, but she had reached her five minute limit of mind numbing boredom and thus had decided to corner Wesley and make him talk to her, even if she had to drag him kicking, screaming, and biting into a meaningful conversation.

            Fun for all.  

            Besides, if Willow could skip out on Lecture Time then so could Cordelia.

            Sighing at his lack of responsiveness, Cordelia straightened in the chair and waved one hand casually over her shoulder at Emma.  "And I thought I had the market cornered on channeling your Inner Bitch to perfection, but next to her Queen Frostiness Emma I'm an amateur.  Not even an amateur.  A pre-amateur wannabe."

            Wesley blinked and turned his head back down toward his pile of papers.  "Is there something you need, Cordelia?"

            Cordelia nodded, grabbed his stack of papers, and threw them over his shoulder.  As the papers fell around them like massive twisting flakes of snow, she said, "I want to know when the hell you're going to remove that stick that's been rammed up your ass for the last few months."

            "Pardon?"

            "Pardon?" Cordelia mimicked.

            "I have no idea what you're talking about," Wesley said flatly.  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

            "Ok, so maybe 'stick rammed up your ass' isn't the right phrase."  Cordelia rubbed her chin thoughtfully for a few moments before her eyes widened with fake enlightenment.  "How about, I want to know when the hell you're going to stop being the unfeeling, callous bastard you've been for the past few months and start being Wesley again."

            "Cordelia…"

            "Look, I know things have been more than tense between you and Angel, which, by the way, has become more than tiresome, and I know there's still a lot of unresolved issues and anger and resentment and rage, but you two are taking this pissing contest to a whole new level and frankly it's starting to piss me off."

            "What-"

            "I'm not saying you're not entitled to your angsty feelings," she said quickly.  "And Angel's entitled to his feelings of righteous anger and supreme stubbornness, but don't you think you two have indulged in the self-pity parties enough?  Everything that happened with Connor and Holtz was one massive mistake after another on all parts, but just because you're both pissed at each other doesn't mean you can disown us and become unknowable loner guy."  She leaned back in her chair, a superior look upon her face, a look originating from deep insight, knowledge, and intuition on the men in her life.  "You're family, Wes.  You're stuck with us, just as much as I'm stuck with you losers."

            Wesley opened his mouth but broke into an exasperated humored grin before he could speak.  Smoothing a hand over his hair, he murmured, "Yes, I suppose we are family."

            "Damn straight.  So quit with the snit and talk to him."

            "To who?"

            "I am surrounded by morons.  What you people would do without me is mind boggling."  Cordelia shook her head sadly and leaned across the table and said, "To Angel.  Quit the snit and talk to Angel."

            "Why should I talk to him?  I believe the last time we talked he tried to kill me."

            "Don't you want to talk to him?"

            "Does he want to talk to me?"

            "I think so."

            "Then why doesn't he?"

            "Because he's a big stubborn baby.  You're supposed to be the mature one out of all of us.  So get off your ass and act mature."    

            Moments passed.  Silent, Wesley and Cordelia stared at each other.  He folded his hands upon the table top, and she folded her arms across her chest.  He cleared his throat, and she flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder.  He scratched his chin, and she raised one eyebrow.  Finally, he said stiffly, "And why, exactly, must I talk to him now and not, say, months ago?  It seems that life has progressed along fine since my removal from Angel Investigations."

            Cordelia rolled her eyes.  "Oh please.  More poor, tortured me attitude.  Spare me.  The reason why you must talk to him now instead of before is because before I wasn't here to kick both your butts in gear and make you talk.  And then when I was here, you were elsewhere with Lilah, which you will never, _ever_, mention in my presence, and then everything went to hell due to the Tweed Brigade.  So that is why it's now."  She shrugged.  "Plus, I wanted to get out of listening to Miss Priss's droning, and you were sitting here by yourself.  When opportunity comes, one must seize it or be left standing behind like a big loser."

            "And as for why," she continued, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.  "He misses you.  I miss you.  Fred, Gunn, and Lorne miss you.  And I know you miss us too."

            "What makes you think I miss any of you?"

            "I know you, Wes."

            "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

            "I know you, and it's not because I'm an all powerful higher being either.  It's because we're family."

            Wesley nodded slowly, silently taking in all she had said.  His eyes flickered past her towards the group gathered before Emma.  She turned in her chair and found Angel staring at them.  He quickly turned away and refocused his attention on Spike, who kept interrupting Emma with inane, inconsequential questions.  

            "Did you talk to him, too?" Wesley asked as she swiveled back around in her chair.

            Cordelia smiled.  "I may have said a few choice words.  I think Spike said a few more choicer words.  And Faith.  She had a few words to say to Angel too."

            "Really."

            "Yeah."

            "Interesting."

            "Isn't it?  Who knew she could say something more meaningful than 'I'm going to kill you now with my big sharp knife.'"  Off of his look, she smiled a dazzlingly innocent smile and said, "You may have developed a severe case of amnesia when it comes to Faith, but I haven't.  And Faith and I have never been family so don't even try to throw my own argument back in my face.  It's not going to work."

            "Wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

            "Good."  Cordelia stood.  She walked around the table and kneeled next to Wesley, gathering him into a strong hug.  "I meant what I said.  Talk to him.  He needs you now.  He's more stressed about Travers taking Connor than he's letting on."

            Wesley sighed as Cordelia released him.  "I'll think about it," he said.

            "Do more than think, or I'll be forced to invoke my higher being powers.  Trust me, it won't be pretty."  She glanced out of the corners of her eyes, grimacing as she spotted Emma making her way over to the table.  "That's my cue," she said, stepping away from Wesley.  Circling around Emma, Cordelia said, "Lovely speech.  Absolutely riveting."

*                      *                      *

AN: Another author's note, and this one at the end of the chapter.  For everyone wondering what the hell has happened to Buffy, Spike, Angel, Faith, Anya, and Xander, don't worry.  They will all be featured front and center next chapter, as well as in the following chapters, along with Giles, Charles, Emilia, Travers, Christina, Dawn, Connor, Wesley, Lilah, Cordelia, Willow, and Tyler for a multipart action-intrigue-drama packed finale.


	43. Into the Fire

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Many, many thanks to everyone who has reviewed.  I love reading all the feedback, so please keep it coming.  And many thanks to SpikeLover7 for a solid year of excellent beta-ing.  

Chapter Forty-Three: Into the Fire

By: Wynn

            "So, what are we going to do?"

            "Are you talking to me?"

            "Yes."

            "Oh."

            Faith shifted in her seat next to Buffy.  Ten minutes ago, everyone except Emma and Jeremy had clamored into a massive black van that would take them all to the extra special Headquarters of the Watcher's Council to save Dawn, Connor, and recently discovered kidnapped Christina and to hopefully emerge from this decidedly suicidal mission alive.  Faith knew she wasn't normally given to meticulous planning; she was always more of a no think, act now sort of person.  But taking this mentality and applying it to the fight against the _entire _Council was stupid.  Moronic.  Idiotic.  

            So it was no surprise to Faith that the plan had originated with Wonder Woman herself, Buffy Summers.

            And if facing certain death as a result of this half-cocked scheme of taking on the Council by waltzing right in the front door wasn't enough, Faith was stuck sitting next to Buffy on the Ride of Doom.

            Life seriously sucked sometimes.

            Glancing sidelong at Buffy, Faith attempted conversation again.  "So what are we going to do?"

            "About what?" Buffy asked, voice laden with irritation and laced with hostility.

            "About Travers."

            Blinking once, Buffy turned and faced Faith.  A faint frown pulled at her mouth.  "What about Travers?"

            "Exactly.  What are we going to do about him?"

            "What do you mean?"

            Faith sighed.  She tugged on the fraying grey edge of her seatbelt as she said, "Are we going to kill him?  'Cause it's not like we can drop him off at the cops with a little note attached saying he tried to kill us with demons and assassins because we've been bad Slayers.  They'd lock _us_ in the nut house for spinning that tale.  And we can't leave him locked up at the Council, not with all those corrupt bastards like Travers running the show.  He'd be out in a heartbeat and terrorizing us ten times more than he's doing now.  And we can't let the weasel roam free 'cause he'll just try to kill us again.  But…"

            "But can we kill him?" Buffy finished.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip.  Her fists were clenched in her hands, but whether that was from the ordeal of engaging Faith in conversation or from the stress from Dawn's kidnapping Faith didn't know.  Opening her eyes again, Buffy looked at Faith and said, "What do you think we should do?"

            A smirk pulled at Faith's lips.  One brow arched into the air in disbelief.  "You're asking me for my opinion?  Are you insane?  'Cause Sane Buffy couldn't care less about what I have to say."

            "I'm not crazy.  Been there, done that, tried to kill my friends."  Buffy shrugged under Faith's questioning gaze.  She squirmed in her seat and stared out the tinted window as she said, "Travers hates you, too.  He's probably hated you longer than he's hated me.  And you've been a part of this series of attacks and deception since the beginning, so I guess you've got a say in how it all goes down."  She tilted her head slightly to gaze at Faith from beneath her eyelashes.  "Besides, I thought you were a part of the team."

            "Part of Team Buffy."

            "Even if I believed for a moment that you were a part of 'Team Buffy,' you still have an opinion all your own.  So spill."

            Faith peered at Buffy through the darkness cloaking the van.  Flashes of streetlights briefly illuminated Buffy's face, but her expression was inscrutable, revealing nothing of her thoughts.  Drawing her fingers through her tangled hair, Faith said, "Before I would have killed him.  Flat out, no fuss no muss.  Kill or be killed, you know.  And if Travers is left alive, our chances of being killed are definitely increased by the way."  She paused and cast another glance at Buffy before continuing.  "But now it's like, I don't know, he's not worth it.  Not worth me sinking down into the blackness and emptiness it takes to kill a man."

            "Even if he is a danger?" Buffy asked quietly.  "Even if he would kill you without hesitation and destroy whatever was standing between him and his grand plans?  What makes him different than any of the demons we've faced?  He says he's doing all this because we've lapsed in our duties as adequate guardians of the Hellmouth.  But instead of helping us, he tries to kill us and our friends and take control of the Hellmouth himself.  So what separates him from any one of the five million demons we slay who want to take over Sunnydale every single day?"

            "He's human.  He has a soul."

            "He's still capable of evil.  All of us are.  You know this.  You've lived it."

            "I guess I have."  Faith's eyes slid down to her hands, hands that had murdered without remorse, hands that had tortured without a flicker of conscience inside of her brain.  She clenched her fists and slipped them inside the pockets of her jean jacket.  "But I changed," she said softly.  "Went to jail.  Started down a new path."

            "Because you wanted to.  You did it yourself.  Nobody forced you."  Buffy paused and sucked in a deep breath, exhaling shakily through her mouth.  "But Travers isn't like you.  You killed out of rage.  Desperation.  I don't think you really wanted to do any of that stuff even while you were doing it.  But Travers…"  Buffy shook her head slowly, a rueful smirk twisting her mouth.  "He knows exactly what he's doing.  He's planned all this for years.  That's a whole different evil altogether.  How do you stop someone like that?"         

            "I… I don't know.  All this morality crap gets so confusing.  It's hard to tell what's right and what's wrong when it's one of the supposedly good guys trying to kill you." 

            Buffy nodded.  She turned back towards the window and gazed out at nighttime London.  The tips of her fingers slowly, softly grazed across the glass.  "I've been thinking.  The Council wants us dead because we're uncontrollable, because we're not locked safely under their thumbs.  They're trying to kill us because they can't use us for their own gains and because we don't take their orders anymore.  Do you… do you ever wonder whether this happened to other girls, other Slayers that came before us?  If they asked too many questions or broke too many rules and had to be killed?"  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "Did any of them fight back and try to live their lives by their rules instead of anyone else's?"

            Her voice sent a shiver down Faith's spine, across her skin, throughout her body.  A current of electrified energy seemed to spring up around the two Slayers, the two women, locking them, weaving them, connecting them to the Slayers of old, to all of the previous Chosen Ones who lived and fought and died.  Faith thought she understood the crazy, half-cocked plan Buffy had cooked up.  Thought she understood the reasoning behind it.  A direct, balls out assault was what was needed.  Something to show the British Slaying Police that they weren't going to be controlled or manipulated any longer.  That the Council couldn't do anything it wanted and think that everyone else would just roll over and turn the proverbial blind eye towards the corruption or carnage.  To show that the time for change had come.

            Faith withdrew her hand from her pocket and placed it next to Buffy's on the window.  "If they were anything like us," she said, "they probably did fight back.  Tooth and nail and claw."

            "You never hear anything about a Slayer revolution though.  Never read anything about a Slayer bucking the system and taking control of her own destiny, free from Council interference."

            "Not that I've done a lot of a reading, but I don't know of anything like that to have happened.  So either it didn't happen or it did and was covered up."  Faith pulled her hand away from the window.  She looked around the van and a wicked, rebellious, cocky smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.  "Either way, this is going to be different." 

            "How?"

            "Because of us.  The Chosen Two.  Double the pleasure, double the revolution."  Faith pointed at all the people in the van as she said, "Because of them.  Friends, family, complete fucking strangers all fighting the fight with us.  We're going to light a fire under the Council's ass…"

            "…and watch it burn."

            Faith nodded.  "And even if all we do is get Dawn, Connor, and Christina back we've still made a stand, bucked the system, caused a little more mayhem in the perfectly ordered world of Quentin Travers."

            "Wow," Buffy mused.  She gazed at Faith in appreciative wonder, but the lighthearted expression was countered by the serious light shining from her hazel eyes.  "That was almost inspiring.  Are you sure we're not on Team Faith?"

            A wry grin crossed Faith's face.  "We should be.  Team Buffy sounds wicked stupid."

            "Better than Team Travers."

            "Oh hell yes."

*                      *                      *

            The black van coasted to a stop in front of an anonymous building.  No special markings indicated that it was the headquarters of the Watcher's Council.  No fancy plaques or pompous banners to advertise the prestige and heritage of the centuries old establishment.  It was just another building on just another street on the outskirts of London.  

            But Spike wasn't fooled by the innocuous exterior.  Over a hundred years existence had caused him to learn to never judge a book, or a person or a demon or a building, by its cover.  The biggest baddest beastie could be as timid as a mouse while a five-foot-four one hundred ten pound blonde girl could kick the asses of everyone on the planet five times over.  What lied beneath the exterior was the important part, and Spike knew that a black, festering mass resided beneath the prim and proper façade of the Council of Watchers.

            As Simmons' turned the van off, Buffy rose from her seat and moved to the front.  Her hazel gaze traveled across the motley crew assembled to fight the big fight as she said, "Everyone keep their eyes open.  Travers knows we're coming; he's counting on it.  No doubt he's assembled some kind of welcoming committee for us.  Watch the corners and shadows for sudden movements, but don't engage in combat unless they strike first.  I don't want to have to fight the entire Council if there's another way we can get to Dawn, Connor, and Christina."  Her tone turned to icy steel and her eyes grew cold and hard as she said, "But if we have to fight every single one of those arrogant bastards to get our family back, then we'll do it.  Travers has gone too far this time."  Buffy moved to the van door and pulled it open.  She jumped onto the sidewalk, turned back towards the van, and said, "Load up.  We're going in."

            She strode away from the van, golden hair flaring out behind her like flowing waves of the sun.  Her stride was steady and forceful, the heels of her black boots cracking on the concrete sidewalk.  Grabbing a knife from the stockpile of weapons, Spike strapped it to his leg, stepped out of the van, and took off after Buffy.  He tugged on her arm and pulled her to a stop a few paces from the Council front doors.  Her face was blank, devoid of emotion, but her eyes flashed and raged with pain and determination.  He lifted a hand to the side of her face; his fingertips moved across the smooth, supple contours of her brow bone, cheekbone, down to her chin.  Her skin, flushed red with frustration and fury, burned beneath his cool fingers.  Buffy closed her eyes at his touch; her bottom lip trembled slightly; her nails dug into the palms of her hands.

            "We'll get her back," Spike murmured.  She opened her eyes and stared at him.  Her gaze bore into him, ripping through the layers of flesh and bone and sinew, straight down to the core fabric of his being, down to his soul.  A flood of panic washed over Spike inexplicably and he tightened his grip upon Buffy, desperate to keep her in front of him, whole and healthy and alive.  "We'll get her back," he said again, his voice stronger.

            Buffy nodded slowly.  "I know."  Her expression softened and she leaned into him, capturing his lips with her own in a fierce, fleeting kiss.  "I love you," she whispered.  "More than I ever dreamed I could."

            "I love you.  Always."

            She smiled then, a tremulous, tender smile.  "Good."  She brought a hand up to his face and smoothed the pad of her thumb across his lips; the soft touch of her thumb caused a tremor to course through his body.  "Always."  Buffy held his gaze for a moment longer, capturing him within the twin webs spun by her green and gold and grey eyes.  And then she pulled her hand away and the mask descended upon her face again and she stepped away from him and closed the distance to the twin doors of the Council and the panic began to shoot through Spike again.

            "Are you Ok?"

            Gaze still fixed upon Buffy, Spike said to Angel, "I… Something's… I don't know… off."

            "With Buffy?"

            Spike nodded.

            "Could be stress.  The last few weeks have been hectic, to say the least."  Angel pushed Spike forward and the two made their way to the open Council doors.  As they entered the building, Angel said, "You got shot and could've died.  Faith was almost killed.  Then learning about Travers and Charles and all the planning and scheming for the last couple of years."  Angel paused.  "And then Travers kidnapped her sister and blew up her house.  So…"

            "…stress."

            Angel stopped before Spike, half-turning to look across the room to where Buffy stood, head back, shoulders straight, and body rigid.  "You're worried about her."

            "Yes."

            "Worried about what might happen to her or about what she might do?"

            Eyes tearing away from Buffy, Spike met Angel's stare and said, "Both."  His gaze slid back over to Buffy and he felt the need to stalk across the room and drag her away, lock her in a room, safe and sound and secure, and come back and do this crazy mission himself.  But he couldn't.  He wouldn't.    

            Spike forced himself to look away from Buffy; he directed his eyes around the room the group had just entered.  The inside foyer of the Watcher's Council was dark, muted light illuminating small sections of the room sporadically.  The tiled marble floor was devoid of furniture.  Two large, faded burgundy tapestries, inlaid with gold stitching and enclosed within glass casings, hung on the right and left walls.  A closed black door lay opposite the front entrance, located beneath a wide cream banner proclaiming in flourishing script, '_The Council of Watchers. Est._ 1134 _A._D_.'.  _

            Xander whistled slowly as he wandered around the foyer.  "Well, this is a very big, empty room.  All the big Watcher brains in this building and no one could think of anything interesting to put in here?"

            "Interesting, no.  Useful, yes," Simmons said from the entrance.  He walked into the center of the room, turned around, and pointed to a space above the twin front doors.  "Everybody wave to the cameras now."  

            Turning, Spike saw faint gleams of light reflecting off multiple camera lenses.  He resisted the urge to flip the cameras off.    

            "There's one motion sensor camera," Wesley said as he approached Spike.  "Another is an infrared camera and the third is a normal surveillance camera."  He spun in a circle, stopping when he faced the solitary black door.  "The door is locked from the other side and can only be opened by passing a retinal scan and reciting the proper password.  And the password changes every day.  The wall is fireproof and bullet proof, inlaid with solid steel strong enough to prevent the strongest of demons from forcing their way through.  But any attempt such as that to breach the security measures would only activate the countermeasure."

            "Countermeasure?"

            "A particularly lethal spell involving a mystic acid of some type the Council picked up from a group of Baum demons in the Mediterranean."

            Spike grimaced.  "Nasty buggers."

            "Quite."

            "So how are we going to get in?"

            Wesley pointed to the door, which had been opened by Giles.  "They've left the locks unlocked for us.  How considerate of them to aid us in our attempt to gain access to their expected trap just behind the door."  A grim smile appeared on his face briefly before he moved away from Spike towards the open black door.  

            In the center of the darkened foyer, Spike watched the group walk through the door one by one, some nervous, some angry, some calm.  All of the drama, heartache, and violence over the preceding few months caused by a middle aged, balding, power hungry little man, which had followed a year long siege on the Scoobies by a trio of adolescent, geeky, power hungry little boys.  What Spike wouldn't give for a straight-up, old fashioned, evil as evil can get demon.  All fists and fangs and fighting and none of this manipulative, clandestine shit Travers favored.  

            But first things first.  Rescue the damsels in distress, and Angel's kid too.  Beat the living hell out of Quentin Travers for a few hours.  And then fly back to Sunnyhell with Buffy and Dawn as quickly as possible as soon as possible.    

            The room on the opposite side of the black door was considerably brighter than the foyer; fluorescent lights lined the high ceiling in five parallel rows.  Spike stepped through the door onto a thick navy carpet; his scuffed black boots sank an inch or two into the plush patterned fabric.  The walls were blank and painted a gunmetal grey, dotted occasionally with surveillance cameras and other assorted electronic devices.  One either side of the black door lay two computer stations, each screen relaying the feed from one of the surveillance cameras in the foyer.  A small archway opposite Spike led to a narrow hall, and two closed doors resided on either side of the arch.  Buffy, Giles, Faith, Wesley, Charles, and Simmons stood in a single file line against the right wall while Emilia, Willow, Xander, Anya, Angel, and Cordelia stood against the left wall.  And in the center of the room, surrounded by nearly twenty armed guards, was Quentin Travers.  

            "William the Bloody," Travers said, a serene smile appearing on his face.  "How nice of you to join us.  Please step against the left wall."

            "No."

            Travers blinked.  "I beg your pardon?"

            "I said no.  Deaf, are you?"

            "No, William-"

            "Don't call me William.  You haven't earned the right."

            Travers blinked again.  His serene smile vanished from off his face, and he heaved a deep, exasperated sigh.  "I advise you to not cause any trouble, Spike.  You are trespassing on Council property, and, thus, as head of the Council, if I so desire I can order one of these men behind me to fire their loaded crossbow-"

            "Wouldn't hit me.  But if you did that I'd have to rip your flabby throat out, and I doubt you want that to happen."

            "And before you could take two steps across this room, I'd send the signal and your young Miss Summers would suffer an unfortunate consequence, one in which you would not be fast enough to prevent."  The serene smile returned to Travers' face as he gazed steadily at Spike.  "And I am not referring to Buffy, so unless you want to be the cause of Dawn Summers' death you will move against the left wall.  Now."

            Hands fisted by his sides, Spike looked across the room, catching Buffy's gaze for a moment.  She slid her eyes down to the ground and then back up to Travers, hatred sparking off her in furious flashes.  Turning back to Travers, Spike said, "That's murder."

            "Not if she's not human."  Raising his voice to be heard above the Scoobies' protestations and exclamations of disbelief at his claim about Dawn, Travers said to Spike, "Now step against the wall.  I will not say it again."

            Jaw clenched tight, Spike closed his eyes.  His senses flooded with visions of Dawn; her blue eyes intent upon his face as he relayed one of his stories of blood and gore to her; her lips upturned in gleeful grin as she fired the perfect zinger at Angel; her long brown hair swinging around her as she danced to the coolest of the cool noise American teenagers called music.  He fixed his eyes upon Travers again as he forced himself from the center of the room to the end of the left line directly behind Cordelia.

            Travers clapped his hands together in satisfaction.  Turning towards the men behind him, he pointed to Spike's row and said, "Take them to the cells.  Split them up.  I don't care how.  Just don't put the two vampires together."

            One of the armed guards moved to the door on the left side of the arch and opened it.  A set of stairs leading to the lower levels of the Council lay beyond the threshold.  Ten more guards fanned out beside Spike and the others, their weapons locked and loaded.  The man beside Emilia nudged her with his crossbow in the direction of the door, and she stumbled forward, nearly toppling down the stairs but was caught at the last moment by the first guard that had opened the door.

            "Careful now, miss," he said as he released her hands.  He stepped before Emilia and began to move down the stairs.  Everyone shuffled after him, a slow procession of guard, Scoobie, guard, Scoobie.  As Spike passed by Quentin Travers, who watched him pass silent and with delight dancing in his small eyes, he heard the first guard say, "Right this way.  Steady on.  No sudden movements.  These stairs can be a might slippery."

*                      *                      *


	44. Burn, Baby, Burn

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer and __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN:  *Happy dance*  Enemy's picked up a new nomination at the Thwack awards for Best Overall Buffy fic.  Many, many thanks to whoever nominated EI.

This chapter went through major restructuring.  I originally wanted to push back the last two sections to Chapter 45 and expand on the middle one.  I spent a few days thinking it over before deciding on retaining the two sections and massively reorganizing the chapter.  There's so much action within the final seven chapters it's been a struggle to organize it in a coherent, interesting, intriguing, and exciting way.  I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and I will try my best to get the final six out as soon as possible.  As always, many thanks to my beta SpikeLover7.  Feedback is a wonderful thing, so please leave some.

Chapter Forty-Four: Burn, Baby, Burn

By: Wynn

            The time had finally arrived.  Retribution in full for all the attitude and disrespect Travers had received over the years from the two renegade Slayers and their brainwashed band of heathens.  Long years filled with gathering information, of putting plans into motion, and patiently waiting for the perfect moment to begin the quest for justice had finally paid off.  The time had come, and Quentin Travers was going to savor every last moment of it.

            The stage on which Justice would swing her mighty sword had been meticulously constructed.  All the right people from the Council had been put in all the right places to hear his thoroughly objective and startling review of these six disgraces.  Each had willfully disobeyed Travers, choosing instead to pursue their radical agendas rather than that best benefiting the Council.  Each had humiliated Travers with their disparaging remarks and rebellious tendencies, both actions demonstrating to Travers' associates that he could not control his Slayers or members of his Council, that he was not worthy of his position as Head of the Council, that he was weak and incompetent.  

            But the years of suffering at the hands of these six imbecilic individuals had come to an end.  All good things come to those who wait, and Travers had waited a long time to take his revenge.

            It would taste very, very sweet.             

*                      *                      *

            They were led through nondescript hallways and up narrow stairwells to a third floor room.  The double doors opened from the inside, and Travers directed Buffy, Faith, Wesley, Giles, Charles, and Simmons into the Council's courtroom.  A judge's bench lay opposite the double doors.  Four dour looking men and women sat behind the bench, all dressed in stiff ancient suits, fingers languidly flipping through packets of papers placed before each person.  They resided on both sides of a handsome woman with grey streaked dark hair.  She wore tortoise shell glasses and a pair of black opal earrings; she watched Buffy lead Faith, Wesley, and the others with an intense and intrigued gaze, her eyes slowly drifting from one person to the next in careful assessment.

            To the right of the bench was a jury-type area filled with twelve more dour looking men and women, and directly before the bench were two long tables, each accompanied by three chairs.  Behind the two tables, separated by a swinging wood gate and spanning back all the way to the double doors, were rows upon rows of benches, occupied by more men and women who silently watched the Buffy-led processional with curious eyes.  Dusty fake plants stood in the four corners of the room, lamely attempting to lighten the heavy wood furnishings and serious atmosphere.  

            A door to the left of the judge's bench opened, and Travers walked into the courtroom.  Stopping before the bench, he nodded to the center woman with the tortoise shell glasses and then looked upon the room and its occupants with a sense of relish nearly reaching ecstasy.  He breathed deeply, taking a moment to fully appreciate the sense of foreboding clouding the room.  Facing Buffy and the others, he pointed to the left table and said, "Please take your seats in the chairs provided."

            Remaining still, Buffy tilted her head to the side, folded her arms across her chest, and said, "Not until you tell me what's going on."

            "I thought that would be obvious, Ms. Summers," Travers said.  He spread his arms wide, his palms facing up as though he were a show woman highlighting a piece of spectacular merchandise.  "This is the room specially allotted for inquisitions and hearings.  You and your cohorts are to be tried and judged before the Council Tribunal for failing to fulfill your various duties and for willfully committing crimes that endangered the innocent citizens of Sunnydale, Los Angeles, London, and in various other cities throughout Europe."

            "What if I don't want to be tried?"

            "I'm afraid that's not possible.  You work for the Council and are thus subject to our bylaws."

            "I don't work for the Council.  I haven't worked for the Council in over three years.  Remember?"

            "You are the Slayer.  Therefore you are under our jurisdiction despite your feelings to the contrary.  Now please take your seats."

            Buffy held her ground, gaze still locked upon Travers.  "If this farce is a trial, then where are our lawyers?  Aren't we entitled to representation?  Someone to defend us against these bogus failures and crimes you've dreamed up?  After all, that is the civilized thing to do."

            Mouth flattening, Travers drew in a deep breath and said, "Ms. Summers, this is an informal hearing and not a criminal trial.  No lawyers or any other kind of representation is necessary."

            "Not when the outcome is already decided," Giles said as he moved forward to stand behind Buffy.  "Our fates, no doubt, have already been planned by you and _your_ cohorts, so why go through all the formalities of an impartial hearing?  You're just wasting everyone's time."

            A patronizing smile appeared on Travers' face.  "Mr. Giles, it saddens me that you think so little of the organization you devoted nearly twenty years of your life to.  No presumptuous judgments have been made against you.  We here at the Council are a fair and objective lot.  Questions have been raised as to your ability to successfully perform your allotted duties, and those questions must be answered."

            Faith snorted.  "That's a load of shit.  You people are the biggest bunch of hypocrites I've ever seen.  I mean, you just threatened to kill-"

            "Ms. Sinclaire," Travers said, raising his voice to drown out Faith.  "I advise you to remain silent.  Any lies you might say will only be detrimental to your case."

            "So you advise me to remain silent, but not to the right to an attorney?  Right fair of you, pops."  Pushing past Buffy and Giles, Faith sauntered over to the left table and plopped into the farthest of the three chairs.  She folded her arms behind her head and propped her boot clad feet on the table.  "Let's get this show on the road, Quent.  I don't have all day to listen to you blab about fairness and objectivity.  Just skip to the screw job you got planned."

            Smoothing a hand over his freshly pressed suit, Travers turned from the six slowly moving into their chairs and faced his Council.  He gazed gravely at the members, his somber eyes catching a few glances.  Clasping his hands behind his back, Travers drew in a deep breath and began to speak.

            "Members of the Council, thank you for taking the time to attend to this most serious matter.  Before you now sit six individuals who for far too long have disrespected the mandates of the Council of Watchers, some of which were established one thousand years ago by the first official Watcher, Sir Geoffery Spenser.  The radical attitudes and dangerous methods employed by these six men and women have resulted in disobedience, rioting, mutiny, torture, murder, and apocalypse, and the time has come for the Council to take decisive action to prevent further mayhem and destruction."

            "Oh, give me a break!"  Faith pushed away from the table and sprang from her chair.  "This is a complete load of shit!  He's-"

            The woman in the center of the judge's bench held up her hand.  Her dark graying hair was gathered into a severe bun at the base of her neck, giving her handsome face a sharp and stern appearance.  Large grey eyes peered across the room at Faith as she said, "Young lady, if you cannot control yourself or your language, you will be removed from this proceeding.  I will not tolerate obscenity laced outbursts.  Now please return to your seat."

            Jaw clenched, Faith slumped back into her chair, dark eyes glaring daggers at the woman who had reprimanded her.

            Turning to Travers, the woman said, "Please continue, Mr. Travers."

            "With pleasure, Mrs. Barrett," Travers said with a broad smile.  He cleared his throat and continued, "I have gathered information detailing the dangerous actions committed by these six individuals over the past three years, and for your convenience I have compiled all relevant data into the packets before you.  Due to the haste in which this inquiry was arranged, I doubt everyone has had the opportunity to thoroughly study all the statistics and observations.  Therefore, I will guide everyone through the packets to highlight the most important points."

            "Shouldn't we receive copies of this informational packet, Travers?" Wesley said from his seat between Faith and Simmons.  "That would be the fair thing to do, so we too can follow along."

            "Seeing as how you committed these actions, Mr. Pryce, I doubt you need the packet to remind yourself of them."

            "No," Wesley said.  "I don't need to be reminded of them.  I was just curious as to what sort of negative spin you must have put on these actions we've committed to label them as 'dangerous.'"

            "No spin, Mr. Pryce.  Just the cold hard facts."  Travers moved to the end of the judge's bench and grabbed an informational packet.  He thumbed through the pages for a few moments before stopping about halfway through the bundled papers.  "Please turn to page 16.  There you will find accounts of rebellious acts resulting in riots, unrest, and dissension committed by David Simmons."  Travers looked over the top edge of the packet at Simmons, who quirked an eyebrow at the gaze, but otherwise showed no reaction to Travers' comments.  "Two years ago, Mr. Simmons spread malicious lies about the integrity of the Council archivists, claiming that these Watchers in charge of the library purposefully falsified documents.  His statements that the Council archivists were, under orders from their superiors, editing certain field reports and historical documents caused unrest and sparked a riotous mob of pupils to form at the Watcher's Academy."

            "It wasn't a mob," Simmons said coolly.  He stared at Travers through half-closed eyes.  "It was a peaceful assembly in the students' dormitories to discuss the action performed by certain Watchers who re-write their reports to eliminate any unfavorable or unethical activity from the record books."

            "The 'peaceful assembly' resulted in half of the students failing to attend their classes for a week."

            Smirking, Simmons said, "The students didn't fail to attend _all their classes.  Just those taught by morally suspect Watchers."_

            Turning to the jury section, Travers pointed to Simmons and said, "He admits to supporting rebellion.  And his rebellious activities extend beyond simple Academy riots.  For the past five months, he has colluded with Charles Samuel, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, and others to wrest control of the Council from the current authority figures and place themselves into positions of power.  David Simmons purposefully attempts to cause dissension in the Council, lies about fellow Watchers, and supports rebellion and rioting by our students.  He is a danger to the security of the Council and must be dealt with accordingly."

            "I did not lie about the falsification of Council records," Simmons said, his voice tight with anger.  "It is common practice in the Council to alter historical accounts detailing violent actions performed against both humans and demons and it is-"

            "And for what reason would Watchers have to alter these historical accounts?"

            "To protect the image of the Council as an ethical and just organization."

            "Are you saying that the Council prizes a favorable reputation that much?  That it favors a flawless image over truthful reporting?"

            "Yes."

            A Cheshire cat grin spread across Travers' face.  "If you believe the entire Council to be as corrupt an organization as you claim it to be, an organization more concerned with appearance than in truth and justice, why do you continue to remain a part of it?"

            "Not every Council member is corrupt and self-serving.  Most genuinely want to protect the world against the demons and vampires."

            "Mr. Simmons, wouldn't you consider a secret plot to attain control over the Council for yourself as self-serving?"  Travers continued before Simmons could speak.  "In your own words you described self-serving Council members as corrupt.  By your logic you and Mr. Pryce and Mr. Samuel and all your other cohorts would be corrupt too, and corrupt Council members need to be removed from the institution so as to not interfere in the mission to protect the world.  Isn't that right, Mr. Simmons?"

            "No.  You're trying to twist my words around to make me look bad."

            "Ah.  More lies and accusations.  I think that is all we need to hear from you, Mr. Simmons."  Travers shot one last look at Simmons, triumph gleaming from his brown eyes, before he flipped through the packet again.  "Please turn to page 21."  As the Council members turned to the indicated page, Travers moved across the courtroom until he stood directly in front of Charles, who sat at the end chair of the right table beside Giles and Buffy.  Contempt and hatred dripped from Travers as he stared at Charles.  The sounds of page turning quieted and Travers continued his justice seeking quest.

            "As everyone in the room knows, Mr. Charles Samuel has been a Watcher for over twenty years.  But his tenure has been rife with unorthodox behavior that caused dangerous and deadly consequences.  Going against a Council practice that has stretched back hundreds of years, Mr. Samuel courted and married a non-human, an Elf named Ariana Smith.  Elves are generally a passive breed of demon, but history has shown them to be possessors of violent tempers that has, more than once, resulted in the slaughter of innocent humans, including Watchers, whom they hold in low regard.  Mr. Samuel's disregard for this obvious violent streak of Elves endangered the entire Council by allowing a demon access to Council records, practices, and carefully protected knowledge of the demon realm."

            "Ariana wanted nothing to do with the Council, Travers," Charles said.  His tone was flat and hollow, lined with a raw edge of rage.  "She didn't care about Council secrets or 'carefully protected knowledge.'  Contemplating the inner workings of the Council wasn't worth her time or energy."

            "Obviously you did not know your wife very well.  Her indifference towards the Council was a front to cover her insidious interest in dismantling the organization."  Staring at Charles, Travers held his packet aloft and said, "A year and a half ago, Ariana Smith attacked one of our own out on a routine patrol near one of our outposts.  The Watcher barely escaped due to the numerous life threatening injuries the Elf inflicted before she was slayed."

            Charles slowly stood.  He clenched his hands into tight fists at his side as fought against the trembles of fury that wracked his body.  Quietly and with a deadly calm that sent shivers down many spines, he said, "She did not attack any member of this institution.  She never attacked anyone.  She detested violence and advocated peaceful co-existence between Elves and humans, between all pacifist demons and humans.  And you had her murdered by one of your flunkies to keep me in Sunnydale.  Ariana wasn't slayed.  She was _butchered_."

            Travers shook his head sadly, false compassion shining in his eyes.  "Deluded by love into ignoring the viciousness inherent in Elves and into believing this ridiculous and pathetic scenario of persecution and ordered hits.  You married a demon.  Sooner or later you knew the time would come when she would have to be put down-"

            Skirting around the table, Charles tackled Travers, the force of his blow sending both men careening into the judge's bench.  Charles pinned Travers beneath him and latched his hands onto Travers' neck.  His fingers tightened around Travers' throat as he said, "Murderer!  _You're the animal that needs to be put down!  Not her!  NOT HER!"  _

            Chaos descended upon the courtroom.  Giles and Wesley moved forward to pull Charles off Travers, whose pallor was slowly distorting from a ruddy tan to pale blue.  As they struggled with Charles, Faith and Buffy fought against Watchers carrying stun guns and restraints straining to get to Charles.  Screams from horrified observers pierced the air wrought with the sounds of conflict.  The noise level reached an intolerable crescendo when a shrieking, otherworldly howl shot through the room, bringing all to their knees, clutching their ears to silence the wretched cry.  As abruptly as the wail began it ended, and the only person left unshaken was Mrs. Barrett, who stood behind the judge's bench, icy anger brightening her eyes.  She uncurled her right hand and set a cylindrical device before her as she said, "Guards, restrain Mr. Samuel and place him in solitary confinement."

            "No."

            Turning her gaze upon Buffy, Mrs. Barrett said, "What did you say?"

            "I said no.  He deserves to be present throughout the rest of this, this inquiry and for whatever judgment you make against us."

            "This inquiry is suspended until further notice-"

            "No," Travers said as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.  Bright red and purple welts marred his throat and his voice was low and raspy.  "This matter needs to be settled here and now.  Delaying it will only prove dangerous."

            "Mr. Travers, proceeding with the hearing will prove dangerous to you.  You have already been attacked once.  Do you wish to be attacked again?"

            "I am willing to take that risk in order to see justice done."

            A minute passed before Mrs. Barrett said, "Very well.  Proceed at your own risk, Mr. Travers.  Guards, restrain Mr. Samuel and return him to his seat."  Mrs. Barrett resumed her position behind the bench and placed the cylindrical device into her pocket.  "There will be no more disruptions to my court room such as this, or the person or persons responsible will suffer severe consequences.  And that includes you, Mr. Travers, so remember to keep a civil tongue in that head of yours.  You may continue when ready, Mr. Travers."

*                      *                      *

            Her head throbbed in a steady pulse Dawn could feel pounding behind her eyeballs.  Returning to consciousness had not been a pleasant experience for Dawn, an experience she had tried to delay for as long as possible but, inevitably, could not hold off for long.  If… no… _when_ she got out of this completely horrible experience alive, she would do whatever the hell was necessary to prevent any future bouts of unconsciousness from afflicting her.  More training sessions with Buffy, Wicca lessons from Willow, whatever.  An executive decision had been made, all the votes had been counted, and the verdict was in.  No more unconsciousness for Dawn.  Ever.    

            Dawn slowly opened her eyes and raised one hand to her head, which was still very sticky with her blood, courtesy of two KOs delivered by the reigning champion of complete and utter psychopaths, Tyler.  Groaning softly, Dawn pushed herself into a sitting position.  Soreness permeated her entire body, but a stronger, duller pain brought her attention to her arm.  Small pinpricks dotted the smooth flesh of her inner elbow.  Lovely.  Strange substances had either been injected _into her body, or the sickos working for Travers had extracted her blood _from_ her body.  Either way it was majorly weird and very, very disturbing._

            Smoothing a hand across the needle markings, Dawn looked at her surroundings.  She sat in the center of a large room on top of a lumpy mattress set on a squeaky cot.  A single stool was placed near the only door to the room.  Aside from Dawn, the bed, and the stool, nothing else was in the room.  She was completely alone… in a large empty room… with a very wide open door.

            Cracking half a smile, Dawn slid off the cot onto the tiled floor.  She winced as rusty squeaks sounded through the room and paused by the bed, but no one came rushing into the room to prevent her from escaping.  Something was definitely off here.  Travers went to all the trouble to kidnap her in her home, re-kidnap her at the airport, and he didn't even see fit to post a guard to prevent her from escaping.  

            Whatever.  His lapse in judgment was her incredibly good gain.  Dawn took a few hesitant steps away from the bed, stumbling backwards as the air in front of her crackled and popped with vibrant green energy.  She fought to control her erratic breathing; her head throbbed harder from the jolt that had shot through her brain, causing her muscles to painfully contract and seize up.  Rubbing a hand over her temple, Dawn wondered if the pain caused by the barrier was similar to the Initiative's chip that had been shoved into Spike's brain.  If so, she would never, _ever, call him Chip Head again.  It had felt like lighting had swept through her mind, stinging the delicate landscape of her thoughts, pounding her consciousness with the inevitable, unavoidable thunder of residual pain.  _

            Cautiously, she stepped closer to the invisible barrier.  The air hummed, sending vibrations shooting through her body and echoing in her blood.  Dawn moved around in a circle and encountered the same energy barrier on all sides.  She looked around but couldn't find any sort of technology capable of producing a barrier such as this, which meant that the immaterial, insubstantial cage surrounding her was produced by a mystical spell.  A mystical cage that was locked with a mystical lock that her mystical Key blood could smash the hell open.  

            Evidently Lilah had kept the information about Dawn's retention of her Key powers to herself, and the Council of Morons was too stupid to figure out how she and Connor escaped the airplane (no big shocker there.)  Maybe if Dawn ever ran into Lilah again she would thank her for her shady ways and deceitful nature that had allowed for Dawn's escape.

            Probably not.  Unless a swift punch to the jaw counted as a thank you.

            Dawn wiped one hand across her sticky brow, fingertips coming away coated in half-congealed blood.  Once she was home in Sunnydale, she would have to consult Willow to find another way to access her Key powers other than ritual bleeding.  But for now it would do.

            Stretching out her hand, Dawn thrust it through the barrier.  The green energy crackled again, shooting away from her arm in fluid waves, converging into one tiny point before disappearing entirely.  She moved forward, wiping her hand off on her pants, and made her way across the room, senses straining for some sign of movement outside the open door.  As she approached the door, she paused as she heard shuffling footsteps in the hallway.  Dawn flattened herself against the wall between the stool and the door, and the footsteps grew closer, the thud of thick rubber on tile sending Dawn's heart into overdrive.  She frantically searched through the room for some sort of weapon as her hand grazed the top of the stool.  Eyes darting from the door to down to the stool, Dawn lifted the metal chair, grasping it tight within her hands, and slid further down the wall away from the door.  Eyes wide, heart racing, she licked her dry, cracked lips and waited.  

            A man moved into the room, head bent over an open magazine.  He was dressed in a drab grey uniform and black work boots; a baton and a stun gun hung from a webbed belt around his waist.  He looked up at the empty bed as Dawn reared back with the stool.  His eyes slid over to Dawn and the swinging stool as his hand reached for the baton.  The stool connected with his face before he could grasp his weapon, and he crumpled to the floor.  Dawn lifted the stool again and brought it crashing down on his back; the man slipped into unconsciousness, his face plastered onto the crinkled pages of his magazine.  

            Dropping the stool, Dawn crouched next to the man and pulled the baton and the stun gun from his belt.  She stepped through the door and eased it closed behind her.  Dawn clutched the baton and stun gun in her hands and looked down both the right and left empty expanse of hallway.  Sucking in a deep breath, she set off down the right stretch of hall.  No more kidnapping for Dawn.  It was time to break the hell out of there.  A pissed off, heavily armed Summers woman was _not _a person to mess with. 

*                      *                      *

            Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Three strides wide and four strides long, each stride approximately one yard, which equals three feet, and thus the cell was nine feet wide and twelve feet long.  Approximately.  Enough to be too small for Angel's liking.  Maybe it was residual claustrophobia from his time in the steel box at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, but one would think the lack of a need to breathe would stifle any possible claustrophobic feelings that could spring up within Angel.  

            Apparently not.  Angel could feel the muscles tightening in his chest, closing in over his heart and lungs, pressing down upon the long dead muscles with elephantine weight.  His mouth was dry; his palms were sweaty.  The room swayed before his eyes.

            Angel couldn't ever remember having a panic attack before.  He could delve deep into worried brooding, stew and ruminate over the problems that were currently plaguing his life.  But a basic, elemental level of calm underscored his worrying, keeping him from flat out panicking.  Except now the basic, elemental level of calm seemed to have disappeared somewhere on the long walk down to the basement levels of the Council, evaporating completely as the bulky door of the cell swung shut, and being replaced by unsettling sensations of panic.

            It felt a little odd.    

            But it wasn't really the lack of space that was affecting Angel.  It was more the lack of access to all the space lying beyond the miniscule box masquerading as a prison cell.  Space that included Connor and Spike and Buffy and Faith.  Space that he needed to be in.  Now.  Space that he couldn't get to because the space in front of the door was rudely occupied by Cordelia, who simply stood staring at the door without making any effort whatsoever to get through the door to the space beyond it.  Angel needed to get through that door to get to his son and get him and everyone else out of here before Travers did whatever his demented tiny brain had planned.  But he couldn't try to get through the door because he couldn't get around Cordelia to get to the door to try to get through it!  

            "Stop pacing," Cordelia said through gritted teeth.

            "I'm not pacing.  I don't pace.  I'm looking for a way out of here."

            Glancing over her shoulder, Cordelia fixed Angel with a look, eyebrows arched delicately over deeply annoyed and slightly condescending eyeballs.  "Nooooooo.  _I'm_ looking for a way out of here.  You're looking for a swift kick in the ass if you don't stop pacing.  I need to concentrate and I can't do that if you keep walking back and forth and back and forth and back again like a large vampire shaped pendulum."

            Under her severe stare, Angel forced his body to a stop in the middle of room.  He remained still for a few moments, clasping his hands tightly before him, and after a minute, Cordelia turned back towards the door to continue her silent inspection.  Stifling the urge to continue pacing, Angel once again looked about the tiny cell.  A bare light bulb hung from the steel plated ceiling, shining light onto the dull metal surfaces covering the cell.  Everything was smooth and flat and unbreakable, and Angel had no clue as to how they were going to get out of there.  There was no furniture in the room.  There were no windows.  There were no grates for air, so either Travers planned on having Angel watch Cordelia suffocate to death or they would be released from this metal prison soon.  

            "Do you think he's Ok?" Angel asked as he continued to gaze at the room.

            "Connor?"

            "Yeah."

            Cordelia shrugged.  "I don't know.  I don't think he's dead, but there's no telling with Travers.  That man is _seriously unstable."  She paused and looked over her shoulder at Angel again.  Her eyes were shadowed with concern.  "But Connor's strong.  I'm sure he can handle whatever these freaks throw at him."_

            "You're probably right."

            "Probably?"  Cordelia smiled slightly.  "Don't you mean definitely?  Most assuredly?  Absolutely and without a doubt right?"

            A ghost of a grin crossed Angel's face.  "Most assuredly."

            Cordelia nodded and returned her gaze to the thick door.  

            A couple minutes passed in silence.  Then Angel said, "How long do you think we've been in here?"

            Sighing, Cordelia drug her fingers through her long, dark hair, yanking at the ends in ineffectually repressed frustration.  "I don't know.  Maybe fifteen minutes.  Now, please, please, please shut up so I can concentrate."  She let go of her hair, flinging it over her shoulders, and she resettled her hands by her sides.  Angel moved to stand next to her as she sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.  

              Her breathing grew faster and shallower, and her eyes darted beneath her eyelids, causing them to flutter rapidly.  A minute went by, followed by another and another.  Then Cordelia tensed and her eyes snapped open.  Her deep brown irises and inky black pupils were gone, replaced by a creamy white that sparked flashes of iridescence.  The air whipped around the room in fierce gusts, stinging into Angel's eyes.  He watched Cordelia stretch out her hand and lay it upon the steel door.  A shudder ran through the door, reverberating out into the walls and down into the ground.  The area beneath her palm began to glow, sliding from yellow to orange to red to a gleaming white.  Heat waves poured off the door, forcing Angel back a few steps.  His gaze bounced from Cordelia to the door, widening as the thick, heavy steel began to melt beneath Cordelia's hand.  The small hole quickly expanded as the door evaporated from the intense heat, slowly expanding to a five feet wide circle.  The hissing whine of rapidly cooling metal pierced the air, and the wind disappeared as Cordelia retracted her hand.  She took a step back from the door and opened her eyes, which had returned to their normal shades.  

            She briefly inspected the hole in the door and then turned to Angel, a wide smile on her face.  "Ready?"

            Slack jawed, Angel stared at the door and the smooth hole residing in its center.  He blinked and looked at Cordelia.  "What…?  How…?"

            Cordelia shrugged.  "I knew you wouldn't want to be left alone in the cell.  I thought it would be quicker for me to melt a hole through the door than for me to teleport out of here and find the key."

            "You… you can teleport?"

            "It's more like trans-dimensional travel.  Lots of sparkles.  Very pretty."

            Angel continued to stare at Cordelia in amazement.  She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes.  Grabbing Angel's hand, she pulled him to the door and started to push him through the hole.  "I _am _a higher being.  I had the big fancy ascension and everything.  There's more to it than a fancy title, you know."

            "But, but I've never seen you do anything like this before."

            "There hasn't been an opportunity.  And like _I would show off my supremely cool powers bestowed upon me by the Powers that Be just because I could.  What do you think I am?  Shallow?"  She rolled her eyes again and shoved Angel through the hole.  As he landed on the ground with a heavy thud, she gracefully climbed through the door.  She stood over a sprawled Angel and placed her hands upon her hips, gazing down at him through hooded eyes.  Her hair was a mess of tangles around her face, lending a wild, primal edge to the powerful aura that surrounded her.  "Play time's over," she said.  "It's time to go save your son."_

*                      *                      *


	45. The Trial of the Century

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc.  _

AN: Just a warning- there's lots of foul language in this chapter (mostly from Faith.)  Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.  I appreciate all the feedback I receive, so please keep it coming.  And, as always, many thanks to my beta, SpikeLover7. 

Chapter Forty-Five: The Trial of the Century

By: Wynn

            "Mr. Wyndham-Pryce has a long history with the Council.  He was a top pupil at the Academy.  Prefect for two years before becoming Head Boy.  He excelled at languages, both demonic and human, in addition to prophecies, the translation of as well as their interpretation.  He had all the qualifications necessary to become a fine, upstanding Watcher: intelligence, diligence, breeding-"

            "Breeding?"  Faith snorted.  "What is he, a dog?"

            Eyes narrowed, Travers turned from his position before the jury box to look at Faith.  His throat had burgeoned into vibrant slashes of purple, red, and yellow from Charles' attack; his bombastic voice was still raspy and currently tinged with annoyance at Faith's interruption.  "Ms. Sinclaire-"

            "Yes?"

            "Ms. Sinclaire-"

            "I think we've established what my last name is, Quent," Faith said, leaning back in her chair and locking her hands behind her head.  A dangerous smirk played upon her lips; a murderous gleam shone in her eyes.  If she had to sit and listen to this ancient windbag talk shit about her and her friends, then she would at least have a little fun while doing so.  And infuriating Quentin Travers provided a whole hell of a lot of fun.  "Besides, isn't this an informal_ inquiry?  There's no need for all the miss and mister crap, is there, Quent?"_

            "Ms.-"

            "Just spit it out already.  I'm bored and you're boring."

            A deep burgundy flush spread across Travers' face.  Nostrils flaring, he said, "The proper reverence for and appreciation of the Council needed in all Watchers can only be sufficiently instilled by previous generations of family that are already associated with the Council.  A proper lineage is of the most import."

            Faith nodded.  Her brows furrowed together in concentration and she gnawed on her lower lip.  After a few moments she straightened in her chair, clasped her hands in front of her, and said, "I'm sorry, Quent.  You used so many big words I couldn't follow what you said.  You see, I'm just a piece of trailer trash from Boston.  I haven't had the fancy education or proper breeding needed to make me a first class loser capable of interpreting geek speak."

            The red flush of embarrassment gave way to a pale, pasty anger.  Travers started across the courtroom, eyes flat and hard and furious, hands clenched into tight fists at his side.  Faith slowly stood from her chair, the smirk upon her face expanding into a wicked grin.  Her dark hair fell across her eyes, half masking the hatred welling within their depths as she stared at Travers.  He stopped before her on the opposite side of the long oak table.  The air in the court cracked and snapped with tense energy.  The crowd was hushed, breathless as it watched the confrontation unfold before them.

            "Is there something you want, Quent?" Faith asked.  She tilted her head to the side and regarded a seething Travers.  "Something I can do for you?  You came over here for a reason, Quent.  Do you want to hit me?  Put me in my place for speaking out of turn?  Try to wipe the smirk right off my pretty little mouth?"  She nodded slowly as she examined Travers.  "You do.  I can see it.  You're craving it like some crack head jonesin' for another hit.  But you won't do it.  You won't.  And you want to know why?"

            Wesley laid a hand upon her arm and murmured, "Faith."

            "You want to know why?" Faith repeated, shrugging her arm out from beneath Wesley's hand.  She leaned across the table and brought her face close to Travers.  They locked eyes, and she smirked again.  "Yeah, you know why.  You know.  But I'll tell you anyway out of the goodness of my fucking heart."

            "Faith," Wesley said again.  He grabbed onto her arm and tried to pull her down into her seat.  "Calm down."

            Ignoring Wesley, Faith leaned even closer to Travers until they were scant inches apart and whispered, "Because you're a chicken-shit pussy with balls the size of raisins.  You're too scared to get your hands dirty in a knock-down, drag out fight, so you hide behind your prim and proper breeding like a scared fucking little girl."  She moved away from Travers and returned to her chair.  Folding her arms across her chest, Faith smiled and said, "So what do you say to that, Mr. Quentin 'I'm-a-scared-fucking-little-girl' Travers?"

            Travers remained silent, continuing to glare down at a beaming Faith.  Slowly he unclenched his hands and a cold grin twisted his mouth.  "I say nothing to that," he said, his voice hard, clipped, and loud, his words ringing throughout the court room.  "I say nothing because everything you say means nothing.  Quite frankly, I was shocked at your accurate level of self-assessment.  You _are trailer trash.  You never deserved the power of the Slayer, and you never will.  You are an embarrassment to the Council and to all the Slayers that came before you, and there is nothing you can do to rectify this situation.  And you want to know why?  I think you know why, Faith, but out of the goodness of _my _heart, I'll tell you.  There is nothing you can do because you are an ignorant, low class, deviant little girl who is always destined to remain ignorant, low class, and deviant.  You are nothing, Faith, but an inconvenience to everyone you know."  Travers crossed his arms over his chest and said to Faith, "And what do you say to that, Ms. Sinclaire?"_

            Faith broke the stare between her and Travers.  She uncrossed her arms and gripped the sides of her chair.  Her body trembled, and she closed her eyes, blocking out everything, Travers, the court room, the Watchers staring at her.  Everything.  Everything but the words ringing through her head, words screamed at her since childhood, words she had whispered to herself more than once.  Words she had fought against, desperately trying to prove false, prove that she could make something of herself and her life, that she wasn't destined to be poor white trash forever, but inevitably, predictably, spectacularly failing.  Until there was nothing but the nothing, and she was lost again.

            "Faith."

            A warm palm upon her arm.  A callused hand brushing across her smooth skin.

            "Faith.  Faith, look at me."

            A voice low in her ears.  Soft and sexy; tender and strong; rough and husky. 

            "Faith.  Please."

            She opened her eyes into the purest, palest blue, a blue that reminded her of faded linens hanging on the line and the winter sky on a clear, crisp morning.  

            And she wasn't lost anymore.

            "Wes."

            He nodded and eased her grip on the arms of the chair, settling her hands into her lap and covering them with his own.  Wesley reached up and brushed a lock of her hair away from her face, and she closed her eyes again to stave off the sudden unexpected tears that pricked her eyes.  Her fingers closed tight around his hand.

            "How touching."  Travers' voice pierced through the interlude with cold, calculated precision.  "Bonds of affection between a murderer and her torture victim.  Will wonders never cease?"

            "I suggest if you feel like tangling with a Slayer, Travers, you deal with me."

            Travers turned from Faith and Wesley to look at Buffy across the court room.  She stood beside her chair, calmly gazing back at him, hands resting on her hips, head tilted to one side.  A slow grin stretched across Travers' face.  He moved away from Wesley and Faith, carelessly throwing a dismissive hand in their direction as he said, "I suppose nothing more needs to be said about Ms. Sinclaire and Mr. Wyndham-Pryce.  Both of their pathetic histories are well chronicled within the Council."  

            He crossed the court room but stopped short of the table as Giles stood to stand by Buffy.  Eyes sliding from Buffy to Giles, Travers said, "Protective father to the end, Mr. Giles?  The loss of your objectivity was your biggest failure as a Watcher.  Your affection for this girl allowed her to manipulate you and deceive you repeatedly.  You were always unable to see her for the unruly troublemaker she is." 

            "If not viewing Buffy as a tool to be used and discarded is a crime, then I am gladly a criminal.  These girls, these Slayers, deserve more than the short, lonely life the Council deems appropriate.  They deserve to have family and friends and loved ones, something other than fighting and death."

            "Even if those family and friends are constantly in danger?" Travers asked.  "Involving civilians in the life of a Slayer brings about severe and deadly consequences, consequences both you and Ms. Summers are intimately familiar with."

            "Jenny knew the risks of living in Sunnydale and of becoming involved in my life.  And in Buffy's life.  And so does everyone else you have locked up in your prison cells.  They know the risks, and they chose to become involved."  Giles paused and looked around the courtroom, his grey eyes slowly scanning the faces of his fellow Watchers.  "And everyone down there has faced more evil in their lifetimes than any one of you could imagine.  And they've won.  They've survived.  And they've helped Buffy become the most successful and long lived Slayer in history.  And they've helped Faith become the woman she was destined to be- a powerful Slayer worthy of her abilities and her place in the Slayer line."

            "And they've also brought about two apocalypses, thousands upon thousands of deaths, and unnecessary danger to the Hellmouth."

            "Angelus brought forth Acathla, not Angel," Buffy said through gritted teeth.  "Willow… she made a mistake.  She lives everyday with the guilt of what she triedto do.  And Anya and Spike chose to help us."

            "Eventually.  After circumstances turned out of their favor and their only option left was to help you.  Tell me, Ms. Summers, how many lives could you have saved had you not been out dealing with these friends of yours?"

            "How many lives would be lost if they weren't around to help?"

            "So you admit you need help," Travers said, a triumphant shine appearing in his eyes.  "You admit you are incapable of protecting the Hellmouth properly."

            "Isn't the reason the Council formed was to _help _the Slayer in her fight against the demons and vampires?"

            "We are here to _guide_ the Slayer-"

            "Guide?  Does guiding include locking a powerless Slayer up in a house with a crazy vampire, a vampire you_ couldn't control, who broke out of its cage and kidnapped my mother?  Does guiding include allowing a psychotic ex-Watcher to infiltrate Sunnydale and try to steal a glove with end of the world capabilities?  Does guiding include repeatedly withholding vital information from us just so you can get off on the power trip?"  Buffy shook her head in disgust and sat back down in her chair.  "That's not guiding.  That's your pathetic attempts at control.  And if that's all the Council has to offer, I'll pass.  Oh, wait.  I already did.  Three years ago.  Yet here you are, kidnapping my sister, blowing up my mother's house, sending assassins after me and my friends, _interfering _in my ability to adequately protect the Hellmouth, and for what?  To punish Slayers you can't stand, Slayers that want nothing to do with you because you're a manipulative little bastard more evil than the demons and vampires we fight on a daily basis.  Instead of protecting the world from our supposed short-comings as demon fighters, you've chosen to waste time and effort to persecute us.  Someone needs to get their priorities straight."_

            "Yes.  Someone does, Ms. Summers.  So why don't you start slaying demons instead of sleeping with them."

            "You leave Spike out of this.  This has nothing to do with him."

            Travers shook his head.  "It has everything to do with him, Ms. Summers.  Your relationship with Spike, as well as your previous liaison with Angel, exemplifies all your shortcomings as a Slayer.  Your disregard for the dangers inherent in becoming involved with vampires, dangers to you, your friends, your family, and to the town you so adamantly say you adequately protect, shows that you are not capable of making clear, objective, rational decisions, a characteristic that is vital to an active Slayer.  Does the fact that he's murdered two of your kind mean nothing to you?"  

            "He's changed.  He's different now."

            "_Now, possibly.  Highly unlikely.  But he hadn't changed at the beginning of your tryst, had he, Ms. Summers?"  Travers shook his head sadly.  "You slept with a soulless vampire, one who murdered two of your brethren."  _

            "Your point?"

            "E-excuse me?"

            "What is your point?" Buffy repeated slowly.  "Are you repulsed by the fact that I slept with a vampire?  Is it because Spike killed two Slayers?  Or does it have to do with the whole soulless issue?"

            Travers' lip curled back in disgust.  "I would assume all three."

            "Alright then."  Buffy held up her hand.  She ticked off one finger as she said, "One.  My personal life is _my business.  Not yours.  Not the Council's.  So if I want to sleep with a vampire or a human or the Loch Ness Monster, I will.  End of discussion.  And don't even think of mentioning what happened between me and Angel because when push came to shove I sent him to hell.  Two.  Yes, Spike killed two Slayers.  He fought them, one on one, vampire to Slayer, and he won.  Do I like it?  No.  Do I wish he hadn't?  Of course.  But you can't change the past, and it is in the past.  He is a different person now.  Three.  The ever present soul issue."  _

            Buffy paused and gnawed gently on her bottom lip.  "Before I used to think that having a soul meant you were automatically a good person.  That evil only resided in the soulless, a fact that I pointed out to Spike time and time again.  But then I grew up.  Finally.  And it wasn't until I saw true evil in the face of a _human, in the eyes of a scared little boy who hated himself and the world around him.  Then I realized that what made a person good or evil wasn't totally based on whether or not he had a soul.  It was the choices he made.  The lifestyle he chose to lead.  A soul provides a level playing field inside a person.  It points them in the direction of doing good, but it doesn't completely prevent them from doing evil."  Buffy looked down at her hands as she folded them into tight fists in her lap.  She was silent for a moment and then she said, "Evil's inside us all.  What makes us good is our choice _not_ to do evil, and Spike has made that choice."  _

            Buffy lifted her gaze from her hands to stare at Travers.  "And that is the first, last, and only time I will ever_ discuss my private life with the Council, so don't ask me again, Travers.  You won't like the consequences."            _

            Lips pressed tightly together, Travers glared at Buffy, every ounce of sheer loathing and disgust inside him pouring into the gaze directed at the blonde Slayer.  He forced his shoulders back and turned from Buffy to face the judge's bench and the jury box.  Retrieving his fallen packet, he clasped it within his hands and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, these six people, as well as their associates, are dangerous. If you haven't gleaned this fact from their deviant outbursts and aberrant beliefs, then remember their destructive actions and ill advised decisions of the past.  All are well known throughout the Council, each and every move they made continually shocking and horrifying to the fine men and women composing the Council of Watchers.  The time has come for their removal.  Before they commit any more murders.  Before they poison any more minds with their radical rhetoric.  Before their deficient capabilities as guardians of the Hellmouth allow the demons and vampires to gain control, bringing chaos, death, and destruction to the world.  Members of the Council, I beg you to put an end to their reigns of terror.  Before it's too late."

              From her position at the center of the judge's bench, Ms. Barrett leaned forward to better gaze at Travers.  "What exactly do you propose the Council should do with these six people, Mr. Travers?"

            Travers drew in a deep breath.  He rolled the packet in his hands and slapped it lightly against his leg as he said, "Incarceration for the Watchers, sentences ranging from five to twenty-five years."

            "And what about the two Slayers?"

            "Death, causing the immediate activation of two new Slayers.  The Slayers would move to Hellmouth to be trained and guided by a new Council branch in Sunnydale of which I would oversee."

            "I see," Ms. Barrett said.  She pursed her pale lips and caught the eyes of her fellow judges; one by one they slowly nodded at her.  She turned towards the jury box, where the twelve men and women were engaged in whispered conference.  "A few moments, Mr. Travers, if you please."

            "By all means, take all the time you need."

            She stepped down from the judge's bench and moved towards the jury box.  Her grey linen skirt swirled around her legs as she came to a stop before the box.  One of the male jurors broke from the pack and leaned over the railing to whisper into her ear.  

            "You don't really think you're going to win, do you?" Buffy asked Travers.

            Glancing over his shoulder at Buffy, Travers said, "Please, Ms. Summers.  You just insulted the entire Council with your strange notions of what a soul is and by your steadfast refusal to co-operate with us.  You sister Slayer is a known criminal.  Her Watcher is an ineffectual embarrassment to the Council.  Yours is a magic wielding radical.  The other two are unnecessary troublemakers.  The only logical step the Council can make is to cut the dead weight and start anew.  Failure, at this junction, is inconceivable."

            Ms. Barrett pulled away from the male juror and looked at the twelve calm and composed faces comprising the jury box.  "Is this your final decision?"

            The jurors glanced at each other and then nodded at Ms. Barrett.  One corner of her lips upturned into a smile, and she returned to her seat in the center of the judge's bench.  She motioned the other judges closer and quickly related the decision made by the jury.  Another moment of conversation passed and then Ms. Barrett swiveled in her chair to face Travers, Buffy, Faith, Wesley, Giles, Charles, and Simmons.  "Well," she began, her face grave, her voice sober.  "This has been a most unusual proceeding, a first in Council history.  And, fittingly, an unprecedented ruling has been made to conclude this unprecedented inquiry.  I wish to impart the gravity of this situation and of this ruling to all, and I hope a decision such as this never has to be made again."  She paused, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply.  

            Reopening her eyes, she said, "By order of the Council of Watchers, Quentin Travers, you are hereby removed from your position as Head of Council, effective immediately."    

            Blinking once, Travers said, "What, what, what did you say?"

            "She said you're, you're, you're fired, asshole!"

            Eyes cutting to Faith, Ms. Barrett said, "Faith, please.  Try to control yourself."  She continued as she turned back to Travers.  "Honestly, Mr. Travers, what sort of verdict did you expect the Council to make?  For the past few months you have abused Council resources to wage your private war against these six individuals.  That offense alone would bring about your removal from office.  In addition to this abuse, you've arranged the kidnapping of three minors, blew up the living residence of one of our Slayers, worked in collusion with a corrupt Los Angeles demonic law firm, and hired both human and demon assassins to murder Buffy, Faith, and their friends."

            "H-how…"

            "How do we know all this?" she asked.  Off of his nod, she said, "From Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, of course.  He contacted me shortly after you offered him a place among your so-called Inner Circle to warn me of you and your delusional schemes of grandeur.  He agreed to work undercover for us, along with Mr. Samuel to make sure you did nothing too drastic and to relay information to the Council through Ms. Emma Rochester."

            The packet of information slipped from Travers' hand and fell to the floor.  His skin pallor had once more been reduced to a chalky white.  "E-Emma?"

            "Yes," Ms. Barrett said.  "Conspired against by your own daughter.  She may be as ambitious and ruthless as you are, but she is far from stupid.  Emma realized what you failed to understand."

            "And what is that, Ms. Barrett?" Travers said coldly.

            "That the unorthodox methods employed by Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles have brought about the most impressive string of successes the Council has ever seen.  Together with their companions, they have prevented nearly ten apocalypses.  The death rate in Sunnydale is the lowest it's been in history.  These statistics cannot be denied, no matter what sort of negative spin you try to apply, Mr. Travers.  Their effectiveness as guardians of the Hellmouth and as demon fighters far outweighs whatever sort of personal problems they may suffer."

            "Really."

            Ms. Barrett nodded.  "You will be escorted to your office where you will pack up your belongings, leaving behind all Council related property of course, and then you will be escorted off the premises.  Another hearing will be held within the week to decide what, if any, punishment you shall receive for your abuses of power."  Looking from Travers to the forty-odd spectators and twelve jury members, she said, "Ladies and gentlemen, these proceedings are closed.  Stemming from the rather strange events of the last half hour, I feel a break is needed for all.  Everyone is free to return home and enjoy a long weekend."

            The sounds of shuffling feet and hushed conversation filled the courtroom for the next few minutes, all Watchers abuzz with the firing of Quentin Travers.  As the last Watcher exited the room, Ms. Barrett pointed towards Charles and said, "Henley, Gardener, please remove Mr. Samuel's bindings, provided he does not try to attack Mr. Travers again."

            The two male judges stepped down from the bench and crossed the courtroom to Charles.  They untied his restraints and helped him stand from the chair.

            His gaze firmly fixed upon the floor, Travers clenched his hands into fists and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.  He exhaled shakily and said, "This was all a set up, wasn't it, Elizabeth?  The inquiry was never for the Slayers and their Watchers.  It was for me."

            Ms. Barrett looked up from the papers she was organizing within her briefcase.  Her gaze softened slightly as she said, "Yes, Quentin, it was.  You've played us for fools for far too long."

            Travers laughed, a harsh bark of derisive laughter that echoed in the court like the sharp crack of a fired pistol.  "_I've played __you for a fool?  You just made a mockery of me and of this organization, Elizabeth, by siding with these heathens.  One thousand years of protocol cast away, and for what?  Two upstart brats who care nothing for tradition or history?"_

            The other three female judges slipped out the side door to the Council court.  Elizabeth Barrett snapped shut her briefcase and said, "Times have changed, Quentin.  The Council must evolve with them.  The same procedures used with the Slayers of a hundred, five hundred years ago are no longer applicable.  You never wanted to accept this fact, and that was always your biggest failure as a Watcher.  I truly am sorry, Quentin."

            "As am I, Elizabeth.  As am I."  Travers shoved one hand into his jacket pocket and removed a tiny rectangular electronic device.  "If you think I will sit idly by while you ruin the Council of Watchers, you are sadly, sadly mistaken."  He pressed one of the buttons and sharp clicks of locks sliding into place echoed through the room.

            Elizabeth's eyes widened in horror.  She looked from the Travers to the doors and back again.  "Quentin, no.  Don't do this."

            Travers glanced up from the rectangular device and gazed at Elizabeth.  A flash of emotion, melancholy maybe, or possibly pity, lighted his eyes, dying as quickly as it appeared.  "It is already done."  

            He took a few steps towards the side door, breaking into a run as Elizabeth cried, "Somebody stop him!"  Travers reached into his other coat pocket and removed a long slender cylinder.  He thrust it into the stomach of Henley, the nearest judge, and arcing flashes of blue electricity coursed over the judge, causing convulsions to cascade through his body.  Henley crumpled to the floor, and Quentin slid through the side door, pressing the second button on his small electronic device as the door shut behind him.  The click of the lock sliding into place sounded as a tinny mechanical voice said, "_Emergency.  Emergency.  An incendiary device has been activated on Council property.  Everyone calmly proceed to the nearest exit.  Fifteen minutes to activation.  Thank you for your cooperation._"

            "A what device?" Faith asked, her dark eyes darting from the side door to the double doors at the front of the court room.

            "An incendiary device," Elizabeth said hollowly.  "A bomb."

            "Countermeasures," Wesley murmured.

            Elizabeth nodded.  "In the event of a hostile takeover-"

            "By demons?" Buffy asked.

            "Yes.  If demons gained control of Council headquarters, protocol dictates destroying the Council, its archives, everything to prevent them from gaining access to our files.  The Council has information on everything one would need to know to bring about the end of the world five times over, and to prevent this occurrence, it was decided it would be more advantageous to destroy everything and start anew."

            Buffy shook her head as she digested the information relayed by Elizabeth.  Her hazel eyes focused on the double doors.  "Let me guess, those lovely clicks we heard were door locks.  We're trapped in here, aren't we?"

            "Yes."

            Buffy sighed and ran her fingers through her blonde hair.  "Great."

            Fifteen minutes to go before activation.  Fifteen minutes to go before everything blows.

            "Just great."

*                      *                      * 


	46. Spontaneous Combustion

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: A lot of the scenes occur simultaneously; all can be coordinated with one another by the mechanical voice message about the bomb.  As always, many, many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.  I love all the feedback, so please keep it coming.  

Chapter Forty-Six: Spontaneous Combustion

By: Wynn

            Patience was not one of Spike's virtues.  Sure, he had gained a modicum amount of control over his urges, both demonic and human, during his hundred years' existence, and the moderating influence of his soul helped somewhat calm his impulsive nature, too.  But they were about as effective in instilling true patience within Spike as Xander was in a crisis situation.  Meaning: they were about as useless as useless could get.  What patience Spike had could only be stretched so far before it shattered into a million tiny pieces, and his breaking point was rapidly, rapidly approaching.

            It didn't help that Spike was locked inside a box the size of a matchbook.  No space to burn off excess energy by pacing; no windows to look out of to distract him or loose panels to pry apart and escape through; no Watcher minions to beat the living crap out of for putting him and his family in this situation to begin with.

            Bloody fucking asshole wankers.

            Spike paused before the steel door and forced himself to unclench his fisted hands.  Working oneself into a red, ripe rage was only conducive either in a fight, moments before one became completely and severely pissed, or while watching a sports program, preferably soccer.  In situations such as the one Spike was in, raging against four bare walls accomplished nothing but further increasing his already intensely pissed off mood.  So Spike breathed ineffectual soothing deep breaths and tried to think pleasant thoughts in an effort to stifle his anger.

            Buffy in combat mode, face flushed pink with exertion, lush mouth spouting particularly caustic puns at whatever evil nasty was primed for slayage.

            Angel embarrassing himself with his perfectly poufy hair and repressed prissy manner whilst hopelessly attempting to be suave and sophisticated.

            Dawn avidly discussing with him the romantic entanglements of Dawson's Creek, voice rising in mock outrage as Spike advocated Pacey and Joey over Joey and Dawson, the epitome of white bread lunks.

            But all of Spike's pleasing thoughts reminded him of where exactly these people that meant so much to him were, and his rage returned threefold.

            So much for think happy thoughts.

            A crackle of static pulled Spike out of his wrathful reverie.  Moments later a thin mechanized voice pierced the heavy silence of the room.

            "_Emergency.  Emergency.  An incendiary device has been activated on Council property.  Everyone calmly proceed to the nearest exit.  Fifteen minutes to activation.  Thank you for your cooperation."_

            Frozen before the door, Spike blinked up at the ceiling, at the nearly invisible speaker implanted within the wall.  An incredulous giggle escaped his lips at the unexpected turn of events.  So he was to be blown to bits by a bomb in the Council.  Bloody wonderful.

            His gaze dropped to the door as he faintly heard footsteps pound away from his cell.  His personal guard had rabbited, leaving him stranded in the sardine can from hell.  Fueled by his pent up frustrations, Spike flung himself at the steel door, kicking, punching, and clawing at the solid, immovable surface. 

            "Someone let me the fuck out of here!  Now, damn it!  I have to kill a short, bald man, and I can't do it while locked up like some sodding animal!  Let me out, you tweed wearing pricks!"

            The locks to his cell door clicked, startling Spike, causing him to stumble backwards and fall to the ground.  He sprung to his feet as the door slid open and slipped into a fighting stance, readying himself for whatever lay beyond the steel prison.

            But nothing Spike could have done would have prepared himself for the sight before his eyes.

            Dawn moved into the room, relief washing over her face as she locked eyes with Spike.  Both sides of her face were caked with congealed blood; one purplish lump the size of a golf ball marred her temple; another lump swelled the crimson skin around her jaw.  Half her long brown hair was plastered to her head with dried blood; the other half was knotted into frizzed tangles.  Her clothes were torn, dirty, and streaked with blood.  She clutched a taser in one shaking hand and a baton in the other.

            "Oh, god.  Dawn…"

            Bottom lip trembling, she attempted a carefree grin and said, "I heard you.  That's about fifty buck in the swear jar, mister.  You wouldn't want to corrupt… the… minor… would you…?"

            Spike rushed forward as tears began to cascade down Dawn's face and she sunk to the floor, weapons dropping unnoticed out of her hands.  She curled into a tight ball within his arms, fingers latching onto his black t-shirt, body shivering with sobs.

            Smoothing a hand over her tangled hair, Spike murmured, "It's alright, Nibblet.  You're safe now.  I've got you."

            Dawn sniffed, wiping her nose off on the back of her hand, and buried her face in Spike's chest.  Her voice muffled, she said, "I-I tried to get away but he-he caught me again and they took C-Connor and I don't know where he is but I thought he w-was in here so I made the guard tell m-me how to open the door before he ran away."  She sucked in a last few gasping breaths and pulled away from Spike, enough to be able to look up into his face.  Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.  "You came.  You came after me."

            "Always."

            "W-where's Buffy?"

            "She's here.  Somewhere.  With Faith and Rupert.  Angel and Red and Anya are all here too."

            Dawn nodded.  She slowly climbed to her feet, shoving stray brown strands of hair away from her eyes, and she held a hand down to Spike, helping him to his feet.  Retrieving the two weapons, she handed the baton to Spike and said, "Did you here the message?  The one about the bomb?"

            "Yeah."

            "We have to find her.  We have to find everyone and get them out."

            "We will."

            Dawn nodded again and grasped Spike's free hand with her own.  The taser was clutched in her other hand.  She followed Spike to the open door and peeked over his shoulder at the empty hallway.  "Do you know where they took her?" 

            "I think up," Spike said.  "They split us up and took all non-Council related people down here.  I figure they herded everyone else upstairs."  He turned to look at Dawn, a swell of feeling rushing through him at the sight of her determined face.  It was almost… fatherly pride.  No matter what the world threw at the Summers women, no matter how hard they were knocked down or cast aside, they always picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and carried on, more resolute and focused than ever.  "Ready?"

            "Yeah.  I'm ready."

            He flashed a reassuring grin, and they moved into the hallway, on the hunt to find their own, no matter what nook or cranny or steel trap they might be locked in.

*                      *                      *

            Of all the people in all the world for him to be locked inside a cell with, it had to be _her_.  From across the cell Xander eyed Anya through half-closed lids.  For months, ever since his return from England with Willow, Xander had wanted to talk with Anya, just to see how she was doing, to be able to look into her golden brown eyes again, but the opportunity never arose.  There was always something.  Breaking and entering, explosions, kidnappings.  Coupled with her avid avoiding of him, there had been absolutely no good time to approach her.  None at all.  Except now.

            Now there was just the two of them, locked inside a drab grey room, with nothing to distract them from each other.  The opportunity for discussion was perfect.

            And Xander couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

            Oh, he had plenty he wanted to, needed to, tell her.  Explanations about why he left her stranded alone at the alter.  The changes that had occurred with him during his time spent in England, during his time spent away from her.  But he didn't know how to say them.  He couldn't think of the right words, the correct phrases, to express his feelings openly and honestly without resorting to sarcasm.  And Anya deserved more than that.  She deserved-  

            "Would you quit staring at me?"

            Xander blinked and focused his gaze on Anya.  "What did you say?"

            She raised one eyebrow and heaved an irritated sigh.  "I said would you quit staring at me.  It's starting to creep me out."

            "Oh.  Sorry.  I didn't realize…"

            Anya raised the other eyebrow and stared at him incredulously.  "You didn't realize you were staring at me?  You were looking straight at me.  Your eyeballs were open.  I saw them."

            Xander shrugged, half-embarrassed at being caught unawares.  "I was just thinking.  I wasn't trying to creep you out."

            "Well, good.  It doesn't matter anyway.  I wasn't creeped out."

            "But you just said-"

            "I said you were tryingto creep me out, but you didn't succeed."  Anya folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the ground.  "As usual."

            It was Xander's turn to raise an eyebrow.  "Excuse me?  Just what the hell does that mean?"

            "It means absolutely nothing, Xander.  So just drop it.  I'm tired and irritable and very much want to get out of this tiny grey prison.  Please leave me alone."

            Xander drew in a deep breath and unclenched his jaw.  He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.  "Fine.  We'll sit here in complete and utter silence for god knows how long, completely ignoring each other instead of trying to find a way out of here, because _you have a headache."_

            "Like you were really trying so hard to get us out of here before, Xander," Anya said sharply.  "You were just sitting over there staring at me like a big creep."  
  


            Opening his eyes, Xander glared at Anya, pushed himself off the floor, and strode over to the closed cell door.  He waved his hands in front of the door as he said, "Look at me, I'm looking for a way out of here.  Happy now?  I'm not irritating you or creeping you out, am I?  Maybe I should just gouge out my eyeballs so I can't stare at you again.  Would you like that?"

            "Oh, sure, _now _you take action.  _Now _you do something.  I bet you're trying to get out of here so you can go rush off after your beloved Buffy or Willow and save them from the horrible tiny man in tweed.  And you'll leave me all alone like you always do."

            Xander turned from the door.  "Do you have something you want to say to me, Anya?  Or do you just want to insult me the entire time we're locked in here."

            She shook her head and tilted her body away from him towards the back wall.  "I have nothing to say to you, Xander."

            "Fine."  He turned back to the door, vainly attempting to calm his raised ire.  He froze for a moment as the proverbial light bulb began to flash above his head.  Spinning on his heels, Xander walked over to Anya and sat down before her.  "I have something I want to say to you and you're going to sit here and listen to me, Ok?"

            Anya slumped back against the wall, bottom lip jutting out into a pout.  "Fine.  You may proceed to talk.  I'm listening."

            Xander nodded.  "Good."  He smoothed a hand over his chin.  His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.  "Good.  I'm here… you're here… we're both here."  He folded his hands in his lap.  "I'm here to talk… and you're here to listen…"

            "Yes, this is a fact we've already established, Xander.  Please move on to whatever point you came stomping over here to make."

            Eyes flashing with anger, Xander said, "I'm trying, alright!  I don't want to screw this up, which is more than I can say for you, Ms. Sarcasm Rally.  I'm trying to tell you something, _seriously_ tell you something, something important, and it's a bit difficult.  If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly an expert at talking honestly about my feelings.  So if you'll just give me a minute, I'll get to my point and leave you alone."

            Anya's face softened, the bitter shell of anger surrounding her melting away, leaving eyes filled with pain and heartbreak and a little bit of hope.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be mean.  Please continue."  

            "I know I hurt you," Xander began slowly, carefully choosing his words, mindful of the precarious emotional state currently surrounding himself and Anya.  "A lot.  I never wanted to hurt you.  I hope you believe that."

            "I do."

            "Really?"

            "Yes, but it doesn't mean you didn't hurt me.  Because you did.  I loved you and you left our wedding without saying a word.  You just took off.  Xander's here and then whoops, he's gone!"

            "I messed up.  I know.  I was scared.  Marriage… it's huge.  And scary.  And I shouldn't have asked you to marry me-"

            "What?!"

            "Not because I didn't love you or want to be with you, but because I wasn't ready."  He sighed and drug his fingers through his dark hair.  Bitterness crept into his voice as he continued.  "You don't grow up in the home I grew up in and come out with a cheery view of marriage.  My parents hate each other, and they only stay married… I don't know why they stay married.  They're insane.  But I didn't want that to happen to us.  I didn't want you to hate me a few years down the road when I inevitably screw up.  I want something better than a bitter, hate filled life for you, and I wasn't sure I would be able to give it to you."

            "Xander…"

            "I wanted to tell you this.  I did.  So many times.  But I didn't know how to say it, or some catastrophic event happened and I couldn't say it.  And time kept moving on and you started looking happy again and I didn't want to mess that up."

            "You thought I was happy again?"

            "Yeah.  I mean you became friends with Faith… and Giles, and I didn't want to get in the way."

            A moment of silence passed and then Anya said, "You thought I was involved with _Giles? Are you crazy?"_

            Xander shrugged.  "Well, he is kind of sexy, if you're into that Sean Connery-older man stuff.  And my last girlfriend did go for the slightly stuffier, younger Giles, so I thought… maybe… You _were_ spending a lot of time together-"

            "We were rebuilding the Magic Box!  We had to spend time together!"

            "It's not just then.  On the plane, you sat next to him-"

            "So I could get the scoop on him and Emilia.  God, Xander, did you think I would just jump on the next available walking penis?  Besides Spike.  But that was only comfort sex, not a relationship.  A one-time only thing."  Anya shook her head in disbelief.  "Did you think I would dive into a new relationship so soon after the last imploded spectacularly?  I was a Vengeance Demon for a thousand years, Xander.  I did learn about rebound."

            "So… it had nothing to do with me?"

            Anya pulled back slightly and gazed at Xander through narrowed eyes.  "What do you mean?"

            "I mean… that maybe you might still have had feelings for me.  That maybe you still loved me."

            "Maybe.  Why?"

            "Because I'm still in love with you."

            A myriad of emotions crossed Anya's face.  Doubt, hope, fear, love.  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and she opened her mouth to speak.

            "Oh, please.  Stop.  You're killing me over here."

            Head snapping to the now open cell door, Xander saw Tyler move into the room, one hand clutched over his heart, the other wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.  Anya gasped and scrambled to her feet.  Xander rose from the floor and Anya moved to stand beside him, her eyes wide with fear and fixed on Tyler.

            "I must say, Xander," Tyler said as the cell door swished shut behind him.  "That was a beautiful moment you two were having there.  I almost hate to break it up, but you see, there's something I got to do and there isn't a whole lot of time to do it."

            "And what's that?"

            Tyler smiled.  His gaze swung from Xander to Anya as he said, "It's just a little bit of revenge, Xander.  A little payback for my near death experience in Sunnydale.  Nothing to worry yourself over."  He reached into one of the pockets of his pants, extracting a long, slim cylinder.  The end crackled with white-blue electricity.  "I just want to kill Anya.  As slowly and as painfully as I possibly can before the whole place blows."

            "What-?"

            "_Emergency.  Emergency.  An incendiary device has been activated on Council property.  Everyone calmly proceed to the nearest exit.  Fifteen minutes to activation.  Thank you for your cooperation."_

            Anya paled.  "Oh, god."

            "I know," Tyler said.  "Fifteen minutes isn't a lot of time to get in a good torturing, but I think I'll manage just fine.  And if I don't get the job done in time, I'll leave and let the bomb blow you into little, tiny pieces.  Vengeance demons are strong, Anyanka, but not even you could survive a bomb."  He grinned again and held up his weapon as he started moving towards Xander and Anya.  "Let the games begin."_         _

*                      *                      *

            You would think that hearing a message about a bomb about to explode in the building one was in would spur a person to take a little action.  Whether that action be trying to find a way out of the building or screaming one's head off in a blind panic was another story.  Regardless of the action, action would be made.  But no one moved in the court room.  No one spoke.  All eyes were focused on the floor or on some indiscriminate point on the wall, and all mouths were firmly shut and pressed into thin, worried lines. 

            All save those of the man convulsing in the middle of the court room floor.

            Yanking herself from her stupor, Buffy raced over to the judge and knelt down beside him.  His eyes were open wide with unbridled terror, and his ruddy face was stained with tears.  Buffy grasped his hand as she vainly tried to remember his name.  It wasn't Henry or Hinkley or Higgins.  

            "Henley!"  Buffy looked up as Simmons approached and crouched next to Henley.  He pressed two fingers against Henley's throat.  "Henley, can you hear me?  Blink if you can."

            Henley's eyes fluttered closed and opened again.

            "You'll be alright in about ten minutes or so.  Try to relax."  Glancing at Buffy, Simmons said, "The weapon Travers used induces a temporary paralysis in intended targets.  It overloads the nervous system, forcing a brief shut down.  It's usually used as a last resort to get out of tough jams, but in the wrong hands, or the crazy hands, it can be deadly."

            Nodding, Buffy stood and examined the court room.  "Is there any way we can get out of this room?  Secret doors?  Underground tunnels?  Anything?"

            "Yes," Elizabeth said as she strode over to the side door.  She pressed her palm against the wall next to the door handle.  A panel swung out, revealing a numeric touchpad.  "All doors close and lock in the event of an emergency in hopes to contain whatever's caused the need for the bomb to begin with.  But the override code should let us out.  That is if Quentin hasn't changed it."

            "Wait a minute," Faith said as she moved next to Buffy.  "I thought you said we were trapped in here."

            "Sorry," Elizabeth murmured.  Her fingers hesitated over the touch pad.  She closed her eyes in concentration as she said, "I was a bit flustered for a moment there.  I never thought Quentin would resort to this drastic of measures."  She finished pressing in the override code and stepped away from the door as it inched open.  The hallway beyond the door was empty.

            "He's gone," Faith said softly.  "Travers is gone."

            "We'll find him," Buffy said as she turned to face the others.  "Ok, this is the plan.  Simmons, can he be moved?"

            Simmons glanced down at Henley and nodded.

            "Good.  I need you to get him out of here and get the van up and running.  Find something else, a car, a truck, one of those double bus things, whatever, if the van's disabled.  I don't want to make it out of the building only to be caught in the blast radius."

            "Got it."  Simmons grabbed Henley beneath his arms and pulled him to his feet; he slung an arm over his shoulder and eased them out of the court room.

            Buffy turned to Elizabeth next.  "Will the override code work on the bomb?"

            "Possibly.  I suspect Quentin probably changed the bomb code if he came to the inquiry already armed with the ignition trigger."

            "Try anyway," Buffy told her.  "If you can't stop it, that's fine.  Get yourself and anyone else left out of here."  As Elizabeth nodded, Buffy said, "Do you know where Travers took the others?"

            "Yes."  She moved away from the door towards her discarded briefcase.  Flicking it open, Elizabeth extracted a computer print out, briefly scanned it, and said, "Dawn, Connor, and Christina are all on the first sub-level.  All of the Council's laboratories are down there.  Dawn's in 104.  Connor, 115.  Christina, 131.  Oh.  Your friend Spike is also being kept on the first sub-level.  Room 109.  The rest of your friends are being held on the second sub-level, in the containment facilities.  Angel and, um, Cordelia are in room 216.  Emilia and Willow, 221.  And Xander a-and Anya are in 236."  Elizabeth looked at Buffy.  "All doors should open with the override code.  Four-six-seven-two-nine-one-three."

            Buffy nodded.  She stared at Elizabeth for a moment before she pointed to the second male judge and said, "You- I'm sorry.  I forgot your name."

            "Gardener."

            "Go with Elizabeth.  Make sure she stays safe.  There's no telling what Travers'll do now.  He may try to stop her from disarming the bomb."

            "Yes, Ms. Summers."

            Turning towards Wesley, Buffy said, "Get Connor out.  Then Angel and Cordelia.  Tell them what's going on and then get them out of the building, Ok?"

            Wesley nodded.  His eyes cut to Faith and he held her gaze for a moment.  His mouth tightened and he dropped his eyes to the floor before moving towards the door and disappearing into the hallway.

            "Charles, you get Christina.  Giles, find Emilia and Willow.  Faith, I need you to get Xander and Anya.  I'll find Dawn and Spike.  Everyone watch your backs.  If Travers is crazy enough to blow up his own Council, there could be all sorts of surprises between us and the way out.  Get out as fast as you can and meet up at the van.  _Don't_ come back in looking for people," she said as she cast a glance at Giles.  "I don't want anyone getting hurt, or dead, by trying something stupid."  Buffy licked her dry lips and walked over to the door.  She crossed the threshold between the court and the hallway and moved toward the stairwell at the far end of the passageway as she said, "Time waits for no man.  Neither does a bomb.  Let's roll."

*                      *                      *

            Oppressive silence filled her mind.  Instead of the usual mental chatter Emilia picked up from random people from time to time through her telepathic filters, she sensed nothing.  Nearly all of her normally erected psychic barriers were stripped down, but she still sensed nothing.  Nothing except herself and Willow.  Everything beyond the small room they were in was a blank slate, similar to the amorphous snow one sees on television sets with bad reception.  Beyond the snow, beyond the silence, Emilia felt the faint presence of magic blocking the rest of the world from her mind.  Yet as hard as she and Willow attempted to break through the barrier, the mojo surrounding their cell increased, thickening and congealing and hardening to a near impenetrable shell of spells.

            Sighing, Emilia opened her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples.  Willow sat cross-legged in front of her, green eyes closed, mouth moving slightly in whispered prayer to the gods and goddesses of old.  Beads of sweat clung to Willow's russet hair and lines of exhaustion creased her eyes and mouth.  The air in the room was heavy with magic; the walls shimmered in an iridescent gold.  Setting her head upon her hands, Emilia breathed deeply and attempted to draw upon the extra reserve of strength she hoped was residing somewhere deep, deep down within her.  Ever since the warning about the bomb, she and Willow had doubled their efforts to escape but to no avail.  And now exhaustion was creeping into Emilia, sinking into her bones, slinking into her mind, and all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep.

            Instead, she lifted her head and said to Willow, "Any progress?"

            "None.  You?"

            "No."

            Willow opened her eyes, her emerald irises blacked out from magic.  She stretched her arms above her head as she said, "I don't know what else to do.  Any magic I use within here just keeps adding to the blocking spell.  I can't find any weakness to exploit."  She looked at Emilia, the black clouding her eyes fading back to green.  "I'm sorry."

            "Don't be.  It's not your fault we're stuck in here.  It's vile Quentin's."

            Standing, Willow walked over to the cell door.  Her voice was low and contemplative as she said, "I wonder what happened to everyone else.  Whether they're alive… or hurt… or dead.  If they're still locked inside these cells or if they're coming right now to get us and any minute the cell door will swoosh open-"

            The cell door swooshed open.  Willow jumped back in shock.  A squeal of happiness escaped her lips and she flung herself towards the person standing within the door frame.

            "Giles!  You're alive!"

            "Yes," Giles said.  "I am alive, and so are you."  His arms closed around Willow in a quick, fierce hug, and then he stepped back, his grey eyes slowly scanning her from head to toe.  "Alive and unhurt, I presume?"

            Willow nodded and released Giles from her embrace.  "Yeah, the guards didn't do anything to us.  Just pointed us to the cells and locked us in."  She glanced over her shoulder at Emilia.  "We're just a little zonked from trying to mojo our way out of here, but-"  Willow broke off and turned back towards Giles.  A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.  "How _did you get in here, Giles?"_

            "I used an override code.  It bypassed the spells and other devices used to lock you two in here and forced the door open."  His gaze slid from Willow to Emilia.  He took a few steps towards her but halted halfway between her and the open cell door.  Giles opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then said, "There isn't much time.  We must hurry."

            Willow grimaced.  "We heard the message about the bomb.  Who decided to blow up the Council?"

            "Travers."

            "Oh.  That's a bit… extreme, don't you think?"

            "After what I've just seen, nothing Quentin Travers does can shock me anymore."  

            A flicker of pain appeared on Emilia's face as she listened to Giles and Willow talk.  So many complications, so much history, existed between Giles and herself that simple communication was stilted at best, completely prevented at worst.  There would be time for reparations later.  Hopefully.  For now, Emilia needed to concentrate on keeping everyone alive.  She stood from the floor, smoothed out her skirt, and followed Giles and Willow through the door.  "What about Christina and the others?"

            Giles paused outside the cell.  "Um, Charles went to get Christina.  Everyone else-"

            "No, he didn't."  Emilia promised she would remember to chastise herself for her stupidity.  Giles' sudden appearance had flustered her already flustered nerves, and rebuilding her mental barriers went forgotten.  That is until she took her first step out of the cell, and then the world, jumbled, cacophonous, panicked, rushed into her mind, assaulting her unprotected consciousness, nearly bringing Emilia to her knees.  And in the muddle, she discerned one thought, clear as crystal, repeated over and over and over.  It was a thought she herself had had many, many times before.  

            Revenge.  Revenge for Ariana.

            She slumped back against the wall and pressed her hands over her eyes.  Emilia felt Giles grab her by the shoulders and gently pull her to a standing position, murmuring soothing words of comfort to her.  

            "He went after him," Willow whispered.  "Didn't he?  Charles went after Travers."

            "Yes."  Emilia forced her eyes open and she locked gazes with Giles.  Tears of pain, from the unexpected mental assault, from the knowledge of Charles' whereabouts, pooled within her violet eyes.  "We have to go get Christina.  Charles… he can't.  He doesn't see… We can't leave her here.  I… I can't lose her, too, Rupert."

            "You won't lose her.  She's in room 131, one floor up."  He grasped her hand, and the three of them, Giles, Emilia, and Willow, took off down the hall, the remembrance of the ticking time and ticking bomb hurrying their already fast pace.            

*                      *                      *


	47. Ashes to Ashes

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: **Please read: **The last section of the chapter contains graphic fighting and violence between Xander, Anya, and Tyler.  Please be cautious if you are squeamish about such things.    

Quote used from _Orpheus.  _Enemy's picked up a new nomination over at the Watching You Awards.  Many, many thanks to Eurydice for nominating EI!  

Chapter Forty-Seven: Ashes to Ashes

By: Wynn

            When in doubt, follow your nose.  Especially one equipped with enhanced vampire senses.  Cordelia followed Angel up stairs, down hallways, and into rooms in the search for Connor, their meandering path guided by his lingering scent in the subterranean levels of the Watcher's Council, and with each step Angel took, his pace increased until the two were sprinting through the barren passageways, all Council personnel having abandoned the building after the uber-polite and ultra-creepy bomb threat.  

            Angel came to a stop from a flat out run.  Cordelia barely dodged slamming into him, careening off into the wall instead.  _That_ was going to leave a mark.  Super sharp reflexes unfortunately did not come with the higher being package.  Sure, Cordelia could manipulate the elements of the earth, a skill that came in handy with soul cleansing and escape from tiny steel cells, but there had been a choice between the fancy reflexes and the sparkly teleportation, and Cordelia had asked herself why would someone need to run fast and dodge quickly if they could just teleport any and everywhere?  So, immensely pleased with her logic, she chose the sparkles.

            But apparently there _were _situations that called for enhanced super being reflexes, and Cordelia had the massive bruise to prove it.

            Rubbing her elbow, Cordelia turned back towards Angel.  He stood before a plain grey door.  No numbers or signs adorned the door, and there was no handle or key pad or anything else that indicated how it could be opened or closed.  "Is he in there?" Cordelia asked.

            "Yes.  His scent's the strongest here.  It doesn't continue down the hall.  Just some residual traces, stuff that's drifted from here."  Angel ran his hands along the door frame, palms pressing lightly against the wall, but no secret panel popped open.  Sighing, he took a step back and said, "I don't see a way in.  Maybe we could pry the door open.  Or you could melt a hole through it like you did before."

            "Maybe.  There's probably an easier way though."

            "What?"

            "They wouldn't have a door that nobody could open.  That would be stupid.  And these guys may be candidates for Psychos Anonymous, but they're not complete morons.  So this door probably opens from the inside.  I can just pop in there, see if Connor is inside, and if he is, I open the door and we get him out."

            Angel glanced over his shoulder at Cordelia.  "What if they have guards inside?"

            "I am a higher being, Angel.  I can take a couple humans."

            His gaze dropped down to her elbow and he raised an eyebrow.  "You just ran into the wall."

            "Thanks to you, Mr. Bat Stop.  Next time we're involved in a life or death race against time, a little notice before you go sixty to zero would be nice."  Cordelia crossed the hall to stand next to Angel.  She laid a hand upon his arm as she said, "I'll be fine.  If there was anybody inside, they probably left already.  No one likes getting blown to bits.  Trust me."

            She stepped away from Angel and flashed a reassuring smile.  Her gaze turned towards the door.  Cordelia concentrated on the room beyond the door, on the space behind the door, and felt the familiar warmth stemming from trans-dimensional travel spread through her body.  The air shimmered before her, opalescent sparkles gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light illuminating the hallway, and the world dissolved around her, melting into abstraction like those clocks from the Salvador Dali painting Cordelia saw in her high school art class.  Her body slid forward, passing through the wall effortlessly, and the room behind the door materialized before her eyes.  

            The room was large, twenty by twenty feet, and devoid of light, save for one lamp beside a rickety cot.  The bulb shed a faded yellow glow upon the form huddled on the mattress, the light strong enough for Cordelia to recognize the curled body as Connor.  A thick chain connected Connor's wrists to the legs of the bed, which were bolted to the floor.

            Cordelia resisted the urge to run to Connor, instead turning towards the door, where she saw a flat screen about the length and width of a human hand about halfway up the wall.  Moving next to the screen, Cordelia pressed her palm against it.  The door remained closed.  She examined the screen, fingers prodding along the edges, eyes scanning the rest of the room.  She pressed her palm against the screen again, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.  Reaching out with her mind, Cordelia coaxed and caressed the elements surrounding her to move and slide against one another.  Crackles of electricity formed around her, and she drew the energy into her body and directed it through her arm, down to her palm, and into the flat panel.  The controls short-circuited, sending off blue arcs of electricity, and the door swished open.

            Angel cautiously stepped into the room, eyes fixed upon Cordelia.  His brows were drawn together in concern.  "What did you…?  Your hair…"

            Grimacing, Cordelia gingerly patted her hair, now frizzed and standing slightly off her head.  "I made a build up of static electricity in the air and used it to short circuit the door controls.  Hence the scary hair."  

            "Are you alright-"  Angel spotted Connor and ran over to the bed.  Crouching next to it, her brushed a few damp strands of hair from Connor's face and whispered his name.  There was no response.  Angel leaned close to Connor and shook him, the tinkling of rattling chains echoing in the room.  A low, groggy moan escaped Connor's lips, and he opened his eyes, peering up at Angel through half-closed lids.  

              "Dad…"  His voice was slurred and shaky.  

            Relief washed across Angel's face.  "Yeah, Connor.  I'm here.  Cordy and I are here."

            "Cordy…"

            "Right here, baby."  Cordelia walked over to the bed and crouched next to Angel.  She grasped Connor's hand with her own; his palm was cold and clammy.  "Can you move, sweetie?  Did they hurt you?"

            Connor shook his head.  He struggled to a sitting position, his body held steady by Angel.  "Drug… they… a drug."

            Cordelia heard Angel's slow intake of breath.  She turned towards him and said, "You need to break these chains so we can get him out.  I'll hold Connor."

            "No."

            Cordelia spun towards the back wall, eyes widening as she saw Wesley enter the room through a door opposite the one she forced open.  

            Angel stood, setting his body between Wesley and Connor.  "What do you mean by no?"

            Slowing to a stop halfway across the room, Wesley said, "I mean that there's a spell on the chains.  You can't break them.  If you try, you'll only hurt yourself and Connor."

            "Then how the hell are we supposed to get him out of here?  I am _not _leaving my son-"

            "Calm down, Angel."  Wesley held up his hand and revealed a brass key within his grasp.  "I have the key."  Moving next to the bed, Wesley said to Connor, "I need you to lift your hands."

            Bleary eyes focused on Wesley, Connor lifted his hands.  Wesley inserted the key into the lock on one of the wrist cuffs and turned; the cuff slipped off Connor's wrist and crashed onto the floor.  Wesley repeated the action with Connor's other wrist and then stepped away from the cot, slipping the key into his pocket.  Angel stepped next to the bed and gently lifted Connor into his arms.     

            Cordelia looked at Wesley.  "Where are the others?  Dawn?  And-"

            "Cordelia, there's no time.  I'll explain everything once we're out of the building, but we must leave now.  Please be satisfied with the answer that we divided up and everyone will be rescued."  Wesley turned from Angel, Connor, and Cordelia and walked back towards the open door he entered through.  "This way is faster."

            Cordelia followed Wesley across the room.  She looked back towards Angel and Connor and raised an eyebrow at Angel's failure to follow.  He sighed and followed them out of the room and into the hallway.  Wesley stood a few feet down the left side of the hall, gaze directed at the stairs lying at the end of the passageway.  He turned back towards Angel and Cordelia and pointed down the right side of the hall.  "There's a staircase at the end of this passageway.  It should be the same one you were brought down.  Go up one floor and you'll find your way out.  Simmons is waiting outside with the van."  

            Frowning, Cordelia said, "Where are you going?  What about the bomb?"

            Wesley started to jog down the left side of the hall.  "Don't worry about me.  Just get out of the building."

            Cordelia watched Wesley move down the hallway.  She locked gazes with Angel.  A moment passed and then he nodded.  "Don't stay too long," he said.  "The-"

            "I know.  Go.  Get him out of here."

            Angel started moving down the right side of the hallway, Connor gripped tightly within his arms.  He stopped after a few paces and turned back towards Cordelia.  "I love you."

            She smiled and felt her face warm with a flush of pleasure.  "I love you.  See you on the upside."  She watched Angel turn and run down the hall towards the staircase.  Spinning on her heels, Cordelia took off after Wesley.  She caught up with him by the stairs.  "What exactly do you think you're doing?" she asked, yanking him to a stop.  "I thought you had gotten past your suicidal tendencies phase."

            "I am not suicidal, Cordelia.  Now please let me go.  I need to-"

            "What?  To get yourself killed?"

            "I need to go after Lilah."  Wesley looked at Cordelia, his blue eyes serious, anxious, and angry.  "There's about ten minutes left.  The Council is in chaos.  Lilah has something planned, I know it, and whatever it is it can't be good.  I have to stop her."

            "Fine.  I'll go with you."  She started down the staircase but was pulled to a stop by Wesley.

            "No.  It's too risky."

            "Why?  You'll be out of here before the bomb goes.  What's the danger?"

            "_Lilah is the danger," Wesley said as he moved past Cordelia, pushing her back up the stairs.  "A danger I can deal with.  Alone.  You're needed with Angel and Connor."_

            They stared at each other for a few moments, caught in an impasse, before Cordelia nodded and said, "Your butt better be up there in nine minutes or I am coming in here after you, Lilah or no Lilah, got it?"

            "Yes, Cordelia."  

            She hugged Wesley, her arms latching around his neck as his lightly encircled her waist.  "Be careful."

            "I will."

            Cordelia pulled away from Wesley and moved back up the stairs.  Her eyes followed his descent down the steps and then she turned her gaze towards the ceiling, focused on the sidewalk outside the Watcher's Council, and disappeared in a shower of light and sparkles.

*                      *                      *

            Willow shivered as she entered the cell.  The air was bitingly cold, and it reminded her of the air inside a morgue or a hospital.  Stationery and antiseptic.  She halted a few feet inside the room, directly behind Emilia, as a pressure built up within her mind, attempting to force her consciousness down into a deep, ephemeral hole.  

            "What is that?  Do you feel it?"

            Emilia nodded.  "It's from the event horizon, a device used to imprison telepaths, anyone with any sort of psychic abilities.  Normally it's directed inward towards whatever person is forced to wear it, but some of it leaks out and lingers in the atmosphere… like poison."

            "Psychic pollution."  Willow stepped around Emilia to look inside the cell.  A young woman with long black tipped silver hair sat slumped in a wood chair in the center of the room; her arms and legs were tied to the chair with thick leather restraints.  A stone of ebony encased within a metal band was perched on her forehead.  

            "Is that your daughter?  Christina?"

            Emilia nodded again.  Her skin had turned a pasty white, and she trembled.  Tears pooled within her violet eyes as she gazed upon her daughter, and she clenched her skirt within fisted hands.

            "Is there a way the device can be removed?" Giles asked.  He stepped away from Emilia towards Christina, his grey eyes intent upon the metal mental prison.  

            "Y-yes.  You just have to take it off her head.  She can't do it herself.  It doesn't let her."  Emilia shuddered.  "It hurts her when she tries."

            Giles approached Christina.  He gently grasped the metal ring, slid it off of her head, and dropped it on the ground.  Emilia and Willow rushed forward as Giles moved Christina to an upright position.  Her face was pale and slick with sweat; dark rings circled her closed eyes.  Her hair clung to her head in sticky clumps.  

            As Giles worked to release her from her leather binds, Emilia kneeled before Christina and laid a hand upon her cheek.  "Christina… Chris, wake up.  Please, darling, wake up… Christina…"

            Christina jerked, her body straining against the restraints, her back arched high off the chair.  Her eyes fluttered but failed to open all the way.  Willow slipped around Giles and lifted the event horizon off the floor.  Mystical energy pulsed off the ebony stone, sending jolts of dark magic careening through the room.  She glanced at Christina and then back at the ebony stone.  Head buzzing faintly from the powerful enchantments, Willow held the device at arms length and said, "Can this thing be destroyed?"

            Emilia glanced over her shoulder.  "Yes.  Smash it."

            A wicked smirk tugged at Willow's lips, and she knew her eyes were black with magic.  "Good."  The event horizon lifted off her hands and spun in the air.  Her gaze snapped to the far wall and the metal ring flew across the room and crashed and smashed into miniscule pieces.  The force of the impact sent black shards deep within the wall.  A last pulse of energy shot through the room before the buzzing inside Willow's head faded.

            Christina gasped.  Her eyes flew open, revealing confused, panicked grey eyes.  She drew in shaky, stilted breaths and struggled against the restraints.

            Emilia smoothed her hands over Christina's hair.  "Christina, shh.  You're safe now.  You're safe now, darling.  I'm here.  No one's going to hurt you anymore."

            "M-mum?"  Christina slumped back against the chair.  Her breathing calmed and she blinked a few times as she focused on Emilia.  "Mum?  You… you're here?  For me?"

            "Yes.  For you."  Standing, Emilia grasped Christina's hands and slid them from the now slack restraints.  "Can you stand?  We need to get out of here."

            "I- I don't know.  Everything's a bit… off.  I…"  With shaky arms, Christina pushed herself to a standing position, body trembling from exhaustion both physical and mental.  Her knees buckled, but Giles grabbed her before she could fall, his hands clutching her elbows and holding her steady.  Christina blinked and looked at Giles.  She drew in a sharp intake of breath and said, "You're Ripper."

            Startled, Giles glanced from Emilia to Christina.  "Um, yes, I am-"

            "We have to go now, Rupert," Emilia said.  She knelt beside Willow and helped remove the last of the leather bindings from around Christina's ankles.  "Time's fading quickly."

            Willow walked over to the open cell door as Giles and Emilia helped Christina cross the room.  As the trio passed by, Christina glanced up at Willow through her tangled hair.  "Gold and black and red," she murmured.  Her rich raspy voice resonated within Willow, causing goose flesh to appear on her bare arms.  

            "What, what is she saying?"

            Shrugging, Emilia said, "I don't know.  She probably doesn't know either, what with the delirium from the event horizon.  She-"

            "No."  Christina jerked to a stop outside the cell, her gaze directed at the ceiling.  Pain flashed across her face, and she bit her trembling lip.  "No… don't."

            "Christina-"

            "Charles… no.  Don't."  Eyes snapping to Emilia, Christina said, "We have to go to him.  We have to help him."

            "We can't help him.  We have to leave now.  There's a-"

            "I don't care!"  Christina pulled out of Giles and Emilia's grasps and took a couple stumbling steps down the hall.  "_He's_ there.  He's got him and we need to be there."

            Striding forward, Emilia grabbed Christina's arm and spun her around.  Violet eyes flashing, she said, "No, we do _not need to be there.  Charles doesn't need to be there either, but he's blinded by his single mindedness-"_

            "What are you talking about?  This is what all of us, you, me, _and _Charles, have dreamt of for months.  Revenge.  Retribution against Quentin Travers for what he did.  And it's finally here.  He's finally here, at our fingertips, and you're balking.  I can't believe you.  She was your sister-"

            "Yes.  She was my sister.  And yes I wanted vengeance.  I wanted Travers dead five times over many, many times.  But murder is not what Ariana would have wanted.  Not against Travers.  Not against anyone.  And I will not disparage her memory by killing.  Travers has already lost."

            "But Charles…"

            Emilia sighed.  "He knows what he's doing.  He chose to go after Travers.  He wanted to.  Nobody can change his mind for him."  She adjusted her grip on Christina's arm and slid it over her shoulder.  She led Christina back down the hallway towards the staircase and the exit, Giles and Willow following silently behind.  As they passed under the arch of the stairwell, Emilia looked up and whispered, "His fate is his own to decide."

*                      *                      *

            Anya now understood what it meant to be frozen to the spot with terror.  Her mind screamed at her to move, to fight, to do something but stand and stare at an advancing Tyler and his electric cattle prod, but her body chose not to obey, instead obstinately remaining motionless with fright.  It was as though she had stepped from her body and was now watching some horror movie featured on late night cable television Xander used to watch.  The setting felt unreal, too horrible to be true and completely incomprehensible.  She knew she was going to die, painfully, slowly, and she wondered if she too would go to heaven like Buffy had or if her thousand years of vengeance had relegated her to one of the more tortuous levels of hell.    

            She started out of her stupor when Xander stepped in front of her, coming between her and Tyler.  He shoved her back into the corner of the room and turned to face Tyler.  Anya slumped against the wall, wide eyes horrified and glued on a smirking Tyler.

            "You don't want to play hero, Xander.  Trust me.  It'll only get you hurt, and this has nothing to do with you.  It's between me and Anya."  His gaze flickered over to Anya, and she flinched from the undiluted malice residing in his eyes.  Faded bruises still colored his flesh from her attack on him in the alley outside his dojo.  Ugly, half-healed cuts and scrapes were scattered across his hands.  Looking back at Xander, Tyler pointed over his shoulder towards the door.  "If you want I can open the door for you and let you out.  You go on your merry way, live your life, have lots of fat children, I don't care.  You leave, and Anya stays, and I have my fun.   What do you say?"

            "You're fucking nuts."

            "Ouch.  You wound me, Xander.  Such harsh language.  There's nothing crazy about this or about me, Xander.  This is cold, calculated revenge for a cold, calculated act of vengeance committed by Anya on me."  He paused and breathed in deeply, as if he were savoring the moment, committing each and every detail to memory.  Shifting the electric prod within his hand, Tyler said, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired of talking.  All talk and no play makes Tyler a pissed off boy."

            Tyler sprang forward and thrust his weapon towards Xander.  Xander dodged, batting the staff away with his hand.  Tyler spun in a circle and brought the staff back towards Xander.  Xander stumbled away from the crackling end into the wall; he pushed off the wall, kicked at Tyler, and caught the side of the prod with his boot.  He moved forward into Tyler and aimed a punch at his head, but Tyler sidestepped the blow and rammed his knee into Xander's gut.  Xander grunted with pain as he doubled over, his arms snaking around his body to clutch his stomach.  

            Tyler raised the stick into the air, high above a defenseless Xander, ready to strike, and Anya snapped out of the cage of terror and acted.  "Xander!  Move!"

            The weapon whistled through the air as Xander dodged.  As he tumbled across the floor and clamored to his feet near the door, Anya raced forward and jumped onto Tyler's back, throwing her arms around his neck in a choke hold.  Tyler twisted, attempting to throw Anya off him, but she clung to his body in desperation, a feral, primal need swelling within her to escape this horror show alive.  

            Xander grabbed onto the electric prod.  He and Tyler struggled for control of the weapon for a few moments before Tyler lashed out with his foot and hit Xander once again in the stomach.  Xander fell to one knee, breathless; tears of pain pricked his eyes, blurring his vision.  Tyler raised the stick again, but Anya latched onto it before he could strike Xander.  

            "Let go," Tyler growled through gritted teeth.  He half-turned and ran backwards towards the wall.  Anya slipped off his back before they collided with the wall, and she moved to face Tyler, her hand still gripping the electric pole.  She seized the weapon with her other hand and attempted to yank it free from Tyler.  Desperate determination battled with sheer hatred, and Tyler laughed as he slowly pulled Anya towards him.  Her feet slid across the floor and she knew she should let go and put distance between herself and Tyler, but the prospect of leaving the weapon in his hands was inconceivable.  So she moved towards him as a smile stretched across his face.

            "Well, well, well, isn't this interesting.  Someone seems to have lost their super vengeance demon strength.  Looks like I did all that research on how to kill your kind for nothing.  You're nothing but a weak little girl."  He laughed again at her futile efforts, wrenched her towards him, and kicked her.  His foot smashed into her knee as Xander tackled Tyler from the side.  The three crumpled into a writhing, tangled heap on the floor, and the staff skittered across the room, coming to a rest beside the door.

            Tyler reared back with his elbow, catching Xander underneath the eye.  He crawled out from beneath Xander and scrambled over Anya across the room towards the weapon.  As his hand latched onto the smooth cylindrical surface, Xander gabbed his ankle and attempted to pull Tyler away from the prod.  Letting himself be pulled back, Tyler twisted around, drove the electric prongs deep into Xander's shoulder, and fired.  Xander froze and started convulsing as charges of electricity coursed through his body.  A couple seconds passed and then his mouth went slack as he collapsed upon the floor paralyzed.  

            Yanking his foot from Xander's hand, Tyler stood and turned back towards Anya.  A slow, menacing grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with her.  "Looks like it's just you and me, kid."

            Anya pushed to her feet and nearly fell to the ground again as her left leg buckled beneath her.  She cried out in pain and shifted her weight to her right leg.  Her knee was shot; the slightest amount of pressure sent shockwaves of pain through her.  Body trembling with terror, Anya watched as Tyler dropped the electric prod onto the ground next to Xander's body.  He glanced up at her through hooded eyes and said, "Don't need that anymore.  I want to make sure you feel _everything _I'm about to do to you."

            He stepped over Xander and strode towards her.  Anya limped away from Tyler, tried to put as much distance as possible between them, but he caught her by her wrist and threw her into the wall.  She crashed into the unforgiving surface and tumbled to the floor.  Bright lances of pain exploded behind her closed eyelids from the blow to her shoulder; tingles of numbness spread down her arm to her hand, rendering it useless.    

            Anya heard Tyler approach.  She saw the discarded prod lying a few feet in front of her.  Gathering her last bits of strength and resolve, she tried to crawl across the floor towards the weapon, but Tyler grabbed a hold of her hair, dragged her back to him, and tossed her face up onto the ground.  The air in her lungs rushed out of her body upon impact, leaving Anya breathless and dizzy.

            Before she could recover, Tyler pounced upon her.  His legs pinned hers to the floor and his hands kept hold of her shoulders.  Through the haze of disorientation clouding her, Anya saw him lean down towards her, his eyes calm and curious as he inspected her sweat slicked face.  She turned her face away and dug her fingernails into his face, breaking the flesh of his cheeks into four bloody trails.  

            "Fuck!"  Seething in pain, Tyler shoved her hand away.  He gingerly touched the claw marks on his face, wincing as his fingertips came into contact with raw, bloodied flesh.  Mouth flattening into a grim line, Tyler reached behind him and removed a knife from a sheath strapped to the back of his leg.  He turned the blade over in his hand; the fluorescent lights glinted off the smooth steel surface.  Gazing down at Anya, he said, "They got this off the vampire.  The blonde one.  I'll be sure to thank him for his generosity the next time I see him."

            Tyler slammed Anya's wrist onto the ground, forced her hand open, and shoved the knife into the palm of her hand, pinning it to the floor.  She screamed a harsh, ragged, horrified cry that rang through the room.  The world wavered in front of Anya.  The black void of unconsciousness crept into her vision and the deep, soothing pull of sleep called to her.  Pain.  There was only pain, everywhere, and Anya wanted it to stop, needed it to stop.        

            "Oh, no, no, no," Tyler murmured.  He back handed Anya and latched onto her chain, forcing her to look at him.  His eyes were hard and angry and menacing as he glared at her.  "I want you awake for this, sweetheart.  I-"

            His hand was ripped from her face as he was lifted from her body and tossed across the room.  Anya dimly heard the dull thud as his body collided with the wall.  She forced her eyes open and relief washed over her as she watched Faith move by her towards Tyler.  Faith kneed him in the face; his nose burst into a mangled, red mesh of flesh.  Reaching down with her hands, Faith grabbed onto his shirt and slammed him once again into the wall.

            "Break me off a switch, son, because there's about to be a whoopin'."

*                      *                      *


	48. Dust to Dust

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: **Please read**: There is **_character death _**in this chapter, as well as graphic violence and language.    

If you feel so inclined, please vote for EI at the Spuffy Awards.  It's nominated in the Best Original Character (for Emilia) and Best General Saga categories.  

Remember, feedback is a wonderful and much appreciated thing.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Dust to Dust

By: Wynn

            Spike felt her before he saw her.  The blinding presence he instinctively knew belonged to Buffy pushed and pulled at him, heightening his awareness of her and drawing him inexplicably closer to her.  Knowing she was near soothed him, even though her own status of mind and body were significantly more tense and preoccupied.  

            He rounded the corner of the stairwell, tugging Dawn along behind him, and there she was all shadows and light in the monochrome passageway.  The light from the ground floor entryway created a shimmering halo around Buffy, turning her hair into an ethereal, glowing, golden mass.  

            "Buffy!"

            Dawn tore up the stairwell and launched herself at Buffy.  The two sisters stumbled back from the force of Dawn's collision, their arms tightly wrapped around one another.  Spike moved up the steps as Dawn haltingly told Buffy everything that had happened to her, her tale punctuated with gasping sobs and shuddering breaths.  Buffy rubbed her hand along Dawn's back and murmured comforting sounds into her ear.  Her gaze swept over Dawn, took in her bedraggled appearance, torn clothes, multiple bruises, congealed blood caking her clothes and face and hair, and then Buffy locked eyes with Spike.

            And all of his fears and worries smoothed away by her mere presence returned with a vengeance.  There was something in her eyes, in her countenance, he had never seen before, something mixed in with the relief and love and anxiety swirling within her hazel orbs.  Spike tilted his head to better look at Buffy, but she broke the stare and returned her gaze to Dawn.

            Buffy smoothed a hand over Dawn's tangled hair as she said, "You need to get out of here.  There's a van outside with some water and a few blankets.  There's a man named Simmons waiting with the car.  Spike knows him.  You'll be safe there."

            "W-what about you?"

            Her gaze slid to Spike briefly before she said, "I… I have to get Willow out.  We split up and I was supposed to find you and Spike and Willow."

            "I'll get her," Spike said.  He walked over to Buffy and Dawn; he shot Buffy his best Big Bad, don't-argue-with-me-because-my-mind-is-made-up, glare.  "You two get out of here and I'll go find Red."

            "No."

            Spike raised an eyebrow.  

            Disentangling herself from Dawn's embrace, Buffy turned towards Spike and said, "I-I mean that you don't know where she is o-or the access code to get her out of her cell.  It'll be easier for me."  She moved over to Spike and laid a hand upon his face.  She brushed her fingers across his brow, the curve of his cheekbone, the slight depression beneath his lower lip.  Her pulse pounded in her fingertips, superheating her skin and setting tiny blazes shooting across his skin.  Desperation shone in her eyes as she said, "Please, Spike.  I need you to get Dawn out of here.  I need you to keep her safe.  She… I need to… I need-"

            "-to find Willow."

            "Yes."

            Spike knew he shouldn't let her go.  But he also knew he would never be able to convince her to let him go instead.  And the more time he spent arguing with these two conflicting impulses within himself, the less time anyone had to rescue Willow before the bomb blew.  And he could see Dawn standing behind Buffy, her eyes large and wet with tears, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, body vainly attempting to resist the trembles that coursed through her body, and he discovered his decision had already been made for him.          

            "Fine.  Go.  I'll take Dawn."

            "Thank you."  Her voice was a breathy whisper that echoed in his ears and imprinted itself upon his mind as the moment everything came tumbling down around him.  Buffy stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around Dawn again, and Spike realized his fears weren't groundless because she wasn't going after Willow at all.

            She had lied.

            Buffy released Dawn from her embrace and nudged her towards the entryway.  She waited for Dawn to step across the threshold, and then she looked at Spike and said softly, "I love you."  And before Spike could reply Buffy turned and raced up the stairwell leading to the upper floors.  Away from the cells Spike and Angel and Anya and everyone else including Willow had been locked into.

            She lied.  To him and to Dawn.  She passed Dawn's safety into his hands so she could go off and do whatever the hell was so important she felt the need to lie about.  Waves of fury washed over Spike and he took an involuntary step after Buffy, but Dawn's pleading voice sounded within his ears, momentarily tearing him away from his shock and anger.  Shooting one last glance at the stairwell Buffy ascended, Spike eased backward over the threshold, grasped Dawn's hand, and headed for the front entrance of the Council to the waiting safety of the van outside.

*                      *                      *

            "Still trying to play the hero?"

            "No."

            "Could've fooled me."  Lilah gazed over her shoulder at Wesley.  He stood a few feet behind her, chest heaving from his sprint down the hallway of the second sub-basement of the Council to catch up with her.  Determination clung to him, resolutely visible in the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes, and Lilah wanted to smile at his single-minded desire to stop her from doing whatever it was she planned to do.  Because what she was up to was not good and shiny and heroic, not in the least, and she knew Wesley knew this.  Which was why he tore off after her like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels, ready, willing, and able to stop her nefarious schemes from coming to pass.  She cocked an eyebrow and raked her dark eyes over Wesley's body.  "Because all you're missing is the fancy cape."

            "Lilah…"

            She sighed and turned to face Wesley.  "Wesley, don't.  Don't try to stop me."

            "Why not?"

            "First, I wouldn't let you.  And I don't want to hurt you unless I absolutely have to."

            "How touching.  And second?"

            "And second, because if you interfere with my plans, Wolfram and Hart will go to any length to make your life and the lives of those around you complete hell.  That is if they don't just kill you.  You know the type of power they wield.  Pissing them off wouldn't be the smart thing to do, Wesley, and haven't you always tried to do the smart thing?  The rational thing?  Or did you give that up along with your morals during your stint on the path of self-destruction?"

            He took a few steps towards her, slow and steady as though Lilah were a wild and unpredictable animal.  "What do they want, Lilah?"

            "What do you think they want?  Something good and pure to bring about world peace?  Hardly."  Lilah clucked her tongue and shook her finger at Wesley.  "The Council's been very naughty, Wesley.  They have something Wolfram and Hart's wanted for a long time, and they've kept it under lock and key and all other sorts of restrictions and surveillance for even longer."

            "Until now."

            Lilah nodded.  "Until now.  And all thanks to Quentin Travers and his over-inflated ego.  But you shouldn't concern yourself with this, Wesley.  Not now.  Not when your honey's placed her little Slayer self right smack dab in the midst of mortal danger."

            Wesley froze.  Apprehension and suspicion battled with anxiety and curiosity upon his face.  "What are you talking about?"

            "I'm talking about Tyler.  The man who almost killed Faith a while back, who would've killed her if not for the timely arrival of the redheaded Wicca.  He's paid a visit to Anya's cell to exact some revenge.  He took a few toys with him, too, including the knife Spike foolishly brought into the building.  And if I'm not mistaken, your girly girl's also headed for Anya's cell."

            "Faith's strong.  She can take care of herself."

            "I have no doubt she can.  But it's not a question of that.  It's a question of whether she'll be able to fight Tyler, subdue him, and then get Anya and Xander out of their cell and out of the building in the-" Lilah glanced down at the diamond encrusted watch adorning her wrist. "-seven minutes remaining.  Faith may have Slayer strength on her side, but Tyler's skilled enough to keep her fighting until the whole building blows.  Or maybe he'll just slip out of the cell and lock her in with Anya and Xander.  I doubt she knows how to get out of the cell from the inside."

            Wesley hesitated.  

            "Go play the hero, Wesley.  Save the damsel in distress.  You'll have your chance to go toe-to-toe with me in the future.  In fact, I'm looking forward to it."  Lilah turned away from Wesley.  She strode toward the steel door lying at the end of the hall, and a smile pulled at her ruby lips as she heard Wesley's retreating footsteps.  "Poor, foolish, sentimental Wesley.  Should've stopped me when you had the chance."

*                      *                      *

            Charles tried to breathe, but he couldn't.  Anticipation bloomed within him, tightening his chest and constricting his throat, and he stood breathless and motionless in the dark office, waiting for the inevitable to occur.  Charles knew it was inevitable because he knew Quentin Travers was the stupidest and most arrogant prat on the planet, and thus Travers wouldn't immediately run from the building he set to blow, the building full of people who absolutely loathed him and wished him dead.  Not without a brief visit to his inner sanctum.  A visit to his office that was more a shrine devoted to the genius that Travers wasn't but believed him to be and the glory he convinced himself he brought upon the Council.  A visit to his hidden stash of documents, photographs, and other such items collected over the past two decades for the sole purpose of blackmailing others.   

            So when the office door eased open, and a slim column of light pierced the shadows only to be blocked by a creeping Travers, Charles wasn't surprised.  He was ready.  Once again Quentin Travers thought he could get away with murder, but this time he overplayed his hand, misjudged his opponents, and his day of reckoning had come.

            Charles stepped away from the wall and slammed the door shut.

            Travers shrieked and stumbled into his desk.  His hand fumbled for the lavish lamp residing on his desk.  A cozy warm glow illuminated the room through the silk shade and crystal beading.  Blood red curtains covered the window behind Travers' desk, concealing the London night with thick layers of linen.  A russet colored leather chair sat before the massive oak desk.  Travers' small eyes were wide with shock; a faint sheen of perspiration coated his brow.  His gaze landed upon Charles, and he forced a congenial grin upon his face.

            "Charles, you startled me."

            "I bet.  Expected all the rats to desert the sinking ship, didn't you?"

            The grin faded.  "Not quite, Mr. Samuel.  I expected Ms. Summers to try something foolish.  That is why I waited for Elizabeth to leave-"

            "Shut up."

            Travers scooted around the edge of his desk, putting the structure between himself and Charles.  Voice calm and composed, he said, "Now, Charles-"

            "What part of shut up did you not understand?  There's nothing you can say to talk yourself out of this.  I don't care what you can offer me.  I don't want your money.  You don't have any power left, so you can't offer me any of that.  What I want you took from me, and you can never give it back."

            Travers regarded Charles with serious eyes.  He swallowed once and ran his hands over his shirt and tie, smoothing out the rich fabrics and textures.  He licked his lips and said, "So you mean to kill me?"

            "No."

            Relief flashed upon Travers' face before he could mask it.  A moment passed, and then he narrowed his gaze upon Charles.  Suspicion weighted his voice as he said, "What do you mean to do then?"

            "To let _you_ kill you."

            "Where would you ever get such a ridiculous notion as that?  I have no desire to kill myself, certainly not to placate your ill guided search for vengeance."

            "Whether you want to live or die is irrelevant.  You're still going to die, and it's still going to be your fault."  Charles turned and slid the deadbolt into its casing, locking himself and Travers inside the office.  He leaned forward and grasped the chair sitting before Travers' desk, and he pulled it towards him, settling it before the closed door.  Easing himself into the chair, Charles folded his arms across his chest and said, "You should've left the building, you dumb son of a bitch, when you had the chance.  Now you're never going to leave, except maybe in a body bag.  A little one."

            Travers paled as he finally understood Charles' intent.  His gaze flickered from the closed door to Charles and back again.  He ran a hand through his hair and said, "You'll die too.  Bombs are nondiscriminatory when it comes to victims.  I die, you die."

            "I know."  Charles cast a glance down at his watch.  "Buck up, Travers.  In seven minutes this will all be over.  Unfortunately for me, you won't die the long, slow, painful death you deserve, but at least you'll _be dead.  Completely.  Irrevocably.  Because there's no one on this planet that'll want to resurrect your ass, and even if there was, Hell has been waiting for far too long to get their hands on you to let you go."_

            "You're insane.  You'd willingly die and leave Christina alone-"

            "You mention her name again, and I'll give you the long, slow, painful death."

            Travers perched on the edge of his chair.  He settled his hands in his lap; one corner of his mouth curved up into a smirk.  "I seem to have stumbled upon a touchy spot.  Are you having reservations regarding your suicide mission?  Do you realize you'll be leaving Christina fatherless?"

            "She's not my daughter.  Besides, she has Emilia and the rest of their family.  She'll understand."

            "But to make the young woman suffer through the death of her beloved uncle so soon after her aunt-"

            "She wouldn't have suffered anything if it wasn't for you!" Charles shouted, hands clutching the armrests of the chair.  "And she won't suffer anymore because of you either.  Neither will Buffy or Faith or anyone else unfortunate enough to come across your path."

            Travers leaned across his desk.  Disdain dripped from every pore as he said, "Do you honestly believe they won't suffer if I'm not around?  Please.  Slayers are built to suffer.  They suffer through short brutal lives, die short brutal deaths, and the cycle is continued with the next girl.  And Christina will suffer as long as she's alive.  Her unique heritage makes her a valuable commodity among the mystical black markets of the world, as well as among entities like Wolfram and Hart.  I'm a small fish in a very big pond when it comes to doling out suffering, and you are accomplishing nothing with this idiotic plan of yours save depriving your sainted niece of the protection she needs.  So cease with this ridiculous notion and move away from the door."

            "No."

            A muscle ticked along Travers' jaw.  "Very well.  Have it your way."  Travers reached down and yanked on the electric cord to the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.  

            Charles blinked at the complete and utter blackness that covered the room.  He slipped off the chair and inched away from his position before the door and into the office, senses outstretched for any indication of Travers' location or whereabouts.  A flash of light exploded into the room, followed by the muffled pop of gunfire.  Charles dove to the side as fragments of the chair he had been sitting in rained down upon him.  He crawled across the floor as another shot rang through the room, narrowly missing his right leg.  Moving to his feet, Charles crouched beside the desk, breath coming in short, ragged pants.  

            Charles squinted as light flooded the room.  He saw Travers beside the door with one hand on a light switch and the other wrapped around a gun and accompanying silencer.  Spotting Charles, Travers thrust his arm out and aimed the gun toward the other man's head.  Travers locked his foot around one leg of Charles' bullet damaged chair and eased it away from the closed office door.  His voice was deadly in its steadiness as he said, "I advise you remain where you are, Mr. Samuel, because if you come any closer I will shoot you.  And I will not miss.  However, if you are serious about your wish for death, please step forward.  I will gladly oblige you."

            Jaw clenched with anger, Charles remained motionless as Travers moved behind the chair and fumbled behind him for the deadbolt.  His eyes cut to the side to locate the lock, and Charles grabbed the desk lamp, hurling it across the room with all his might.  Travers ducked as the lamp smashed into the door; glass shards fell onto his huddled body.  Charles sprang over the desk as Travers stood, and he kicked the damaged chair towards Travers as Travers took aim.  Diving to avoid the chair, Travers landed hard on his side, the air in his lungs bursting from his body in a sharp, harsh exhalation.  As Travers rolled to face Charles, Charles latched onto Travers' arm and forced the gun barrel up towards the ceiling.

              They struggled for control of the gun.  Seconds ticked by and Charles slowly twisted Travers' arms, forcing his grip upon the pistol to loosen.  Charles' fingertips slid across the gun's trigger, and he pointed the barrel at Travers' temple.  Eyes widening, Travers' hands shook, rattling the gun next to his head, and sweat beaded across his forehead, dripping down into his eyes, alongside his nose, and across his lips.  He blanched, turning a sallow grey color, and fear shot through his eyes.

            Charles felt a sneer of triumph appear on his face and pressed down on the trigger.  He froze as Willow's voice pushed its way through the layers of hate and vengeance and anger blanketing his mind, a voice soft with regret and tremulous with grief over her destructive actions spurred by her blind need for vengeance.  

            And he saw the stark terror upon Travers' face and felt sick with the realization that he came close to cold blooded murder and that killing Travers wouldn't bring Ariana back and it wouldn't dull the grief that consumed him daily and it wouldn't bring a smile back to Christina's face or ease the stress felt by Emilia.  All it would do was cause more pain.

            His finger eased off the trigger. 

            And in Charles' moment of hesitation, Travers pounced. 

            Because a moment was all Travers needed.

            Twisting around, Travers drove his foot into Charles' side as he wrenched the gun towards him.  The pistol slipped from Charles' grasp, and he locked eyes with Travers as Travers aimed and fired.

            The bullet tore through Charles' chest.  Blood flooded into his collapsed lung, and he fell upon the floor, gasping for breath and finding none.  Pain flared sharp and blinding inside his chest, radiating through his body and bringing tears to his eyes.  The world wavered in front of him as he rolled onto his back.  Charles dimly heard the sound of the office door rattle, and the dull thuds of fists pounding on cracking wood, and he saw Travers' face appear before him, eyes emotionless and brittle in their hardness.               

            "What did I always tell you, Charles?" Travers asked softly, leaning down close to him, their faces mere inches apart.  Above the blood roaring in his ears and gurgling within his chest, above the pounding on the office door, and through the pain soaked haze that had descended upon his mind, Charles head Travers' response.

            "Mercy is for the weak."

            And the world swirled and faded and died around him, bleeding into the everlasting blackness of death, as the broken office door flew open, revealing the slim form of Buffy Summers standing in the threshold.  The room faded to a slim prick of light before disappearing forever.

*                      *                      *

            Faith wanted to kill.  She needed to kill.  The need sang through her veins like one of those old as shit symphonies, where the music keeps building and building and building, piling layer upon layer, adding more and more and more instruments, until it fucking explodes into this massive, powerful, thunderous sound that leaves you stunned and a little breathless.  It was the worst craving in the entire world, one that could not be satiated with food or sex or exercise, but only by the sounds of breaking bones and the feel of warm slippery blood coating your hands.  It was the highest of the highs, killing was, more potent than any drug any shady peddler could push on you, and Faith had tried to resist the allure because as high as the high was, the fall was that much lower.  It sucked you down into the deepest, darkest recesses of desperation and despair, into the part of your consciousness that knew murder was wrong, and left you to rot in your own misery.

            But all of her resolve not to kill had shattered the instant she heard the shrill, terrified scream of her best friend and had opened the cell door to find her pinned to the floor by the fucking bastard and his fucking knife.

            And the need to kill came screaming back threefold, all hot and red and burning, and Faith hadn't felt this way in a loooong time.  

            Damn if it didn't feel a little good.  

            "Fucking bitch."

            "Excuse me?"  Faith held her hand up to her ear and leaned a little closer to Tyler.  His nose was raw and swollen; purple-black bruises circled his eyes.  The bottom half of his face was caked with blood from her knee to his nose.  "What the fuck did you just say to me?" 

            "You broke my fucking nose."

            "Yeah, I did."  She pushed Tyler back against the wall and drove her fist into his stomach.  A ragged groan tore from his body and he doubled over in pain.  "That's not all I'm going to break, you complete piece of shit."

            Tyler shoved off the wall and flung himself towards her, a snarl curling across his scarlet lips.  She dodged, but he caught hold of her hair and yanked Faith down to the ground with him.  They hit the floor hard, Faith on top of Tyler, her back pressed against his stomach, and he wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed.  She rammed her head back into his nose and smashed the already broken cartilage.  His grip loosened, and Faith scrambled off him.

            Gaze locked upon Faith, Tyler slowly rose to his feet.  He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture as he said, "This doesn't concern you, Faith-"

            "Don't _even_ try and talk to me.  Because I don't want to hear a damn word you have to say.  Just for the record though, this isabout me.  You hurt me, so Anya hurt you.  You hurt Anya, and now I get to hurt you.  It's called the cycle of pain, buddy.  The wheel never stops turning and it's time you got yourself yours."

            They circled each other in the small cell, carefully dodging the prone bodies of Anya and Xander, eyes hard and locked on one another.  Faith darted to the right, and as Tyler dodged left, she lashed out with her left leg and caught him just beneath the chin.  His head snapped back, knocking him off balance; Faith pressed her advantage, landing a series of punches across his body.  Tyler staggered away from Faith, but he tripped as he passed by Xander and crashed onto the floor.  He pushed to his knees; his hand closed around the smooth handle of a long black tube.  Swiveling around towards Faith, Tyler dove towards her, attempting to thrust the weapon into her midsection.  Faith grabbed onto the pole and snatched it from Tyler's hands.  She held the slim staff before her and pressed the activation button on the bottom of the handle; electricity crackled on the other end, arcing between the two metallic prongs like a blue-white rainbow.  

            Cocking an eyebrow, Faith turned her gaze towards Tyler and said, "Well, well, look what I've got here.  One of Quent's handy dandy instant paralysis sticks.  You know, if used improperly, this thing can be wicked deadly.  Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't shove this straight down your throat?"

            Tyler chuckled and shook his head sadly.  "Man, have you gone soft.  All talk and no action.  You can't even kill me, and I was all set to torture your best friend.  It's quite pathetic actually.  The true blue hero look doesn't suit you, Faith, so stop playing dress up in big sister's clothes and fucking be the killer you are."

            A scream and the sound of steel sliding against flesh and bone pierced the air.  Faith looked behind her and saw Anya curled into a shaking ball, the knife that had been thrust through her palm lying beside her.  Tyler yanked on the electric weapon, and Faith rammed her foot into his chest, sending him sailing across the room.  He crashed against the wall, the back of his head striking the unforgiving surface with a sickening crack.  As Tyler slid to the ground, Faith dropped the black stick and said, "You want to die, go ahead and be my guest.  I have better things to do than watch a second rate psycho like yourself beg me to kill him.  _That's _fucking pathetic."

            Faith turned away from Tyler and moved next to Anya.  She smoothed back Anya's hair, revealing a bone white face sticky with sweat and golden eyes wide with panic and pain and fear.  Blood pooled beneath Anya's motionless right hand, and Faith forced her eyes away from the shredded flesh, muscle, and bone.  "Anya.  _Anya. It's Faith.  Can you hear me?"_

            There was no response.  Faith waved her hand in front of Anya's face, but her expression remained frozen in blank horror.  

            She heard shuffling sounds behind her and swiveled around to find Tyler struggling to a standing position and Xander shakily pushing himself to his knees.  They locked eyes with each other and simultaneously dove for the slim cylindrical weapon.  Xander grabbed a hold of the stick, shoved it towards Tyler, and pressed the activation button.  Tyler collapsed onto the floor, body convulsing, and his mouth open in a silent scream.  Xander watched with eyes dead with anger.  Another moment passed, followed by a second and a third, and then Tyler stilled.

            Xander continued to press the electric prongs into Tyler's chest.

            Faith eased forward and laid her hand over Xander's.  She lifted the prod off Tyler and slid it from Xander's gasp.  Bruises bloomed beneath his right eye.  He inhaled harsh breaths through gritted teeth, and his hand clutched his left side.

            "Broken ribs?"

            Xander nodded.

            "Think you can walk?  We got to jet now, and Anya's not moving.  I have to carry her."

            Xander didn't answer her.  He continued to stare at Tyler.  A couple seconds passed and then he said, "Do you think he's dead?"

            Faith glanced down at the motionless form of Tyler.  "Do you care?"

            "No."

            She hesitated.  Her eyes slid over to Xander, and they stared at each other, silent communication and understanding passing between them.  The ordinary rules of what was right and wrong didn't apply in life or death situations like this.  So Faith told Xander the truth and hoped he could survive the consequences.  "He's dead.  Now come on.  Time's ticking."

            Faith returned to Anya and lifted her from the floor, sliding an arm beneath her knees and around her waist, cradling Anya against her chest.  Xander rose to his feet and shuffled towards the open cell door.  He looked out into the hall and motioned Faith to exit the cell.  The door slid shut behind Faith and Anya as Faith turned and came face to face with Wesley.  His eyes traveled from Anya to Xander and back to Faith again.

            Pointing to Anya, Wesley said, "Is she alive?"

            "Yes."

            He nodded as his gaze cut over to the closed cell door and lingered there for a moment.  Faith tensed as she waited for the inevitable questions to pour forth from his lips, questions about Xander's bruises and Anya's blank stare and the blood staining Faith's hands.  But the moment passed and Wesley turned back to Faith and Xander.  Moving over to Xander, he eased an arm around the other man's shoulders and began to move down the hall towards the staircase leading to the Council lobby without a backwards glance at the closed cell.

*                      *                      *


	49. Mercy is for the Weak

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: **Please read**: There is graphic violence and language in this chapter.  Please be cautious if you are squeamish about such things. 

Enemy's picked up a new nomination at the Shades of Grey Awards for Best Conventional Drama for Round 8.  Many, many thanks to whoever nominated EI.

A huge thank you goes out to SpikeLover7 for her encouragement regarding this chapter and for this entire story.  Her support has been invaluable.

Feedback is a wonderful and much appreciated thing.

Chapter Forty-Nine: Mercy is for the Weak

By: Wynn

            Lilah waited for the last of Wesley's footsteps to fade before she slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and removed the electronic keycard she had stolen from Quentin Travers' office while he indulged in his fantasy of persecuting the Slayers and their friends.  His office safe held all sorts of interesting goodies Lilah would have loved to go through, but the lure of the extraneous blackmail supplies held no permanent sway over her.  She was a woman on a mission, albeit Wolfram and Hart's mission and not one of her own devising.  Nonetheless, she was still determined to see it through.  Especially if she wanted to return to Los Angeles alive and with all of her parts intact and attached to her body.  So she grabbed the keycard and the set of brass keys next to it and waited for the chaos to begin.

            Luckily, Travers didn't disappoint.

            Lilah sighed.  Men with their bombs.  They were always so preoccupied with blowing shit up.  All bang and flash, and no substance and class.  But in this instance, Travers' bomb did have its use for Lilah.  It made the surveillance system haywire and emptied all the hallways and staircases from prying eyes.  Except for Wesley, but one appeal to his chivalric side sent him running.  

            All in all, perfect conditions for a little espionage and theft.         

            The steel door loomed before her, grey and imposing in the fluorescent light of the hallway.  Behind the twelve inches of metal, and accompanying reinforced concrete walls, was _the object of desire for Wolfram and Hart, something the Senior Partners searched the entire world over ever since its existence became known to them.  But, appearances to the contrary, the Council of Watchers were no dummies.  Not completely.  They knew exactly what they possessed, how dangerous it could be if fallen into the wrong hands.  Hands like Lilah Morgan's.  Hands like Wolfram and Hart's.  But in all the confusion caused by Travers' shenanigans, concern for their precious commodity had wavered and a brief window of opportunity for thievery had opened._

            Lilah seized the moment.  She always did. 

            She slid the card through the swipe box.  The tiny red indicator light flashed a few times before switching to a solid green glow.  Lilah smiled as the locks clicked open and returned the keycard to her pocket.  Like taking candy from a baby.  A middle aged balding baby with a Napoleon complex, but a baby nonetheless.  Grasping and twisting the smooth handle, Lilah heaved on the heavy steel, managing to create a foot wide space between wall and door to reveal the dark and stifled interior of an eight by six cell.  

            Thick bars separated the cell into two sections.  One florescent light on the ceiling of the anterior cell section, a sliver of the room, barely spanning two feet in length, was the room's only illumination.  Next to the right wall sat a battered wood chair beside another swipe box.  Lilah stepped up to the bars; the stale air filling the room tickled her nose and throat.  Narrowing her eyes against the glare from the overhead light, she attempted to pierce the gloom at the far end of the cell.  At the edge of the halo of light cast by the florescent bulb, Lilah saw the outline of a rickety cot bolted to the floor and a tiny steel sink.  Attached to the left wall were a set of iron rings and a connecting thick chain, which disappeared into the blackness cloaking the far end of the cell.  

            "You're not a Watcher."

            Lilah smiled at the raspy voice drifting from the left corner.  "No, I'm not a Watcher."

            "Who are you, then?"

            "I'm a friend."

            "I don't recall having any friends.  Care to enlighten me as to what your name is?  Maybe you'll jog my memory, and I won't have to kill you."

            "My name is Lilah Morgan.  I'm a representative from Wolfram and Hart."

            Lilah could hear the smirk in the seductive, underused voice.  "You're a lawyer?  How quaint.  Lilah Morgan, now that we're such good friends, maybe you can tell me why you're here."

            Holding up the keycard and brass keys, Lilah said, "I'm here to release you."  Lilah's smile widened at the silence that followed her declaration.  "Not quite the response you were expecting."

            "Not really, no.  But I like surprises.  I've received so little of them the past few years."

            Lilah nodded sympathetically.  "I'm sure the conditions of your stay here at the Council have been appalling.  All that can change."

            "Only if you release me from my bondage, correct?"

            "Something like that."

            "And what exactly am I expected to do for you in exchange for my release?"

            "Nothing."

            A snort of disbelief echoed throughout the cell.  "Nothing?  Absolutely nothing?"

            "Absolutely nothing.  My bosses at Wolfram and Hart feel your presence would be better felt out in the world and not locked inside this cell.  If you accompany me willingly and without conflict-"

            "You mean without me killing you the second you release me from these chains."

            A tight smile appeared on Lilah's face.  "Yes.  As I was saying, there's a car waiting for us a block away.  It will take us to a plane destined for Los Angeles.  There you'll receive everything you desire, clothing, a fabulous apartment, anything you want, no strings attached."

            "There's always a string.  Or in my case a chain."  There was a pause followed by a faint rattling of the chains.  "I don't think I'll be accompanying you, Lilah Morgan.  I may be a captive, but I'm not stupid.  Nothing comes for free.  Ever."

            "If I told you that a bomb was scheduled to detonate in three minutes, would you still want to remain in your cell?  You'll die in the explosion."

            "I don't fear death."

            Lilah pursed her lips and resisted the urge to glance down at her watch.  Time was ticking, and it was time to pull out the big guns, the one piece of information guaranteed to whet the appetite of the Council captive.  "Well, since you've made your decision, I guess I'll be going."  Lilah pivoted on her heel and took a step towards the open steel door.  Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder at the shadows and said, "Since you're determined to remain here, I guess the fact that Los Angeles is only a mere hour away from the current Hellmouth would be of no interest to you whatsoever."

            The next few seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow for Lilah.  If she failed in her task, she would probably be better off waiting for the bomb to blow than to return to Wolfram and Hart empty handed.  The Senior Partners entrusted this task to her personally, and failure was not an option.  A bead of sweat trickled down her spine and pooled in the small of her back.  Her breath caught in her chest as she began to turn back towards the door.  But then a smile broke out across her face as the prime captive of the Watcher's Council stepped into view.

            The girl was tall and emaciated from malnourishment.  Her skin was toffee brown and long jet black hair stretched down to the middle of her back.  She wore a simple grey tunic and pants made of coarse cotton cloth, and her feet were bare.  Long, luscious lashes framed vibrant green eyes; an aquiline nose ran down to a bow shaped mouth.  The girl grinned and held out her shackled hands towards Lilah.

            "Your proposal is an interesting one, Lilah Morgan.  You've got yourself a deal."

*                      *                      *

            A light rain began to fall as Spike escorted a shaking Dawn out of the Watcher's Council.  The night sky was hazy with streetlight illuminated clouds, and the stairs connecting the twin front doors to the sidewalk were slick.  Simmons' massive van sat half on the street and half on the sidewalk, headlights blazing in the black of the night.  Both of its side doors were open and in the vehicle Spike could see four or five huddled Watcher shapes in the back row.  Angel's tyke sat in the doorway, head propped up on the doorframe, woolen blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders.  On the sidewalk, crouched before Connor, were Angel and Cordelia, heads bent towards one another in discussion.

            Connor straightened as he caught sight of Spike and Dawn.  He shrugged off the blanket and slipped around Angel before Angel could stop him.  He wavered on his feet for a moment but remained upright and met Spike and Dawn halfway to the van.  A blue-black bruise colored his temple, and his face and neck were coated with sweat.  

            He spared Spike a quick look before locking eyes with Dawn.  "Are you alright?  Did they hurt you?"  Connor turned on Spike and took a step towards him, brown eyes flashing with anger.  "What did they do to her?"

            Spike cocked an eyebrow at the boy's indignant rage and opened his mouth to reply, but Dawn stepped smoothly between them and laid a hand upon Connor's arm.  Her shaking abated, and the tension lodged within her shoulders eased somewhat.  "I'm fine.  Really.  I look worse than I feel."

            "You look horrible."  Connor blinked.  His cheeks flushed as he ducked his head, running a hand through his tangled hair.  "I mean… I don't think you _look _horrible.  You just look horrible _now.  But not, um, you know, usually."  He shot Spike a pleading look.  _

            Spike smirked.  Apparently a brooding scowl wasn't the only thing Connor inherited from Angel; he also received Angel's penchant for foot in mouth disease.   Easing a hand behind both their backs, Spike nudged Dawn and Connor towards the van as he said, "What the boy means Nibblet is that normally you are the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but right now you look a bit worse for the wear and he wants to go pummel the bastards that did this to you."

            Dawn rolled her eyes at his translation of Connor's ramblings, and Spike felt some of the panic brewing inside him fade away.  If Dawn could summon the patented Summers' eye roll now of all times, when she was bruised and bloodied, she would be alright.  She'd bounce back from the horrors bestowed upon her by the Wanker Brigade, a bit tougher, a little less innocent, but still Dawn.  

            Spike took a deep breath to steady his nerves and resisted the urge to hold on to Dawn for dear life.      

            They reached the van.  Angel replaced the blanket around Connor's shoulders and ushered him into the van, a worried lecture about sudden movements and Council drugs drifting from the dark interior.  Cordelia handed Spike a second blanket, which he eased around Dawn, as she said, "Do you want some water, sweetie?"

            Dawn nodded.  Cordelia made her way to the rear of the van and returned moments later with a chilled bottle of water.  She twisted off the top and handed the water to Dawn.  

            As Dawn took a sip from the bottle her eyes darted back towards the Council's headquarters, lingering on the darkened windows and open front doors.  An unreadable expression crossed her face.  

            "She'll be fine, Dawn.  Buffy's a big girl.  She knows what she's doing."

            Dawn cast a glance at Spike.  Her eyes were heavy with melancholy, aching pools of blue like the color of the sky on a winter day, and they were wise beyond her years with hard-won knowledge gained from too much pain, too much sorrow suffered in her short life.    "I don't think she does," Dawn whispered.  Her voice was hollow in its sadness, tinged with resignation and reluctant acceptance.  

            Spike felt his heart clench at Dawn's calm reception of Buffy's abandonment.  The rage simmering beneath his skin began to boil again, and his own words were tight and clipped with pain as he said, "Into the van, Nibblet.  Shouldn't be standing on your feet."

            "Alright."  Dawn grasped Spike's hand and squeezed it once before turning and climbing into the van.  He watched her slide onto the seat beside Connor; she handed Connor the water bottle as she laid her head upon his shoulder.   

            Grinding his teeth in an attempt to quell the anger swelling inside him, Spike stared at the Council.  His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.  Buffy should be _here_ with Dawn, not gallivanting around the sodding Council.  What the hell was so bloody important Buffy felt the need to-?  Spike broke his silent ravings with a snort.  Travers.  Quentin fucking Travers.  It had to be.  She couldn't leave him be, couldn't let him go crawl back under the rock he slithered out from.  She had to track him down and fight the good fight, beat the bad guy, be the hero once more.  Spike took a step away from the van but halted as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulders.             

            "Where's Buffy?"

            Spike shrugged.  He twisted around and looked at Angel.  "I don't have a bloody clue.  She said she was going after Willow, but the girl can't lie worth a piss.  She's probably gone after Travers, thinking she can track him down in that chaos."  He shook his head and pushed agitated fingers through his short hair.  "I told you, Angel, something was off with her.  I told you.  And now she's going to get herself killed."

            "Maybe she really is going after Willow," Cordelia said.  She arched an eyebrow at Spike's glare and held up her hands in a peace gesture.  "Well maybe she is.  Just because you're a vampire doesn't mean your instincts are always top notch.  Angel's frequently wrong."

            "I'm not wrong about this, Cordelia."

            "I'm not saying you are, Spike.  I'm just trying to give Buffy the benefit of the doubt that she wouldn't be stupid enough to do something, well, stupid."

            Angel sighed.  His gaze locked on something past Spike's shoulder.  "Cordy, I think your benefit's misplaced."     

            Spike turned and saw Giles, Emilia, and Willow helping a black haired young woman down the Council steps.  The girl must be Christina, Emilia's daughter; she had the same long, shiny hair and piercing, glowing eyes as Emilia.  The quartet reached the van.  Spike darted around Giles and Emilia and up to Willow.  "Did you see Buffy?"

            Willow blinked at his abrupt question.  "What?"

            "Did you see Buffy?  In the building?  She told me she was supposed to rescue you.  Did you see her?"

            "No.  I didn't.  Giles came and got me and Emilia out of our cell.  Then we went for Christina… why?  What happened?"

            Spike shook his head.  He maneuvered around Willow and approached Giles, who was assisting Christina and Emilia into the van.  "Rupert."

            Mouth tightening, Giles looked at Spike from the corners of his eyes.  "Yes?"

            "Were you the one that was supposed to rescue Willow?"

            "Yes."  Giles straightened and turned towards Spike; a faint frown creased the space between his brows as he said, "Why do you ask?"

            "Because Buffy told me she was supposed to find me and Dawn and Willow.  She took off instead of coming out here with me and Dawn.  And now she's off somewhere in the Council doing fuck knows what.  Probably trailing after Travers, trying to get one last showdown before everything blows."

            "Oh dear Lord."  Giles swore.  He rubbed a hand across his mouth and jaw as his grey gaze bounced from the Council to Spike then over to Willow.  The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened with worry, and recrimination laced his voice as he said, "I should have known she would do something this rash.  I should have-"  He broke off abruptly and shook his head.  Locking eyes with Spike, Giles said, "Before everyone divided up, Buffy told us not to come back in the building under any circumstances.  She… she told us not to do anything stupid."

            "And you let her go off on her own!  What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Rupert?"

            Eyes flashing with anger, Giles snapped, "Nothing is bloody hell wrong with me, Spike!  Why did _you let her go off on her own if you knew she would do something like this?"_

            Angel stepped between the two men, placing palms on their chests and easing them apart.  "Everyone just calm down.  Fighting won't help anyone right now."

            Shoving Angel's hand off his chest, Spike spun on his heels and stalked towards the Council front doors.  Emerging from the interior of the building were Faith, Harris, Wesley, and Anya, who was cradled within Faith's arms.  A hand clamped onto Spike's arm and forced him to turn back towards the van.  He snarled at Giles and yanked his arm from the other man's hand.  

            "You are not going back in that building, Spike."

            "The fuck I am, Rupert."

            "Buffy said-"

            "Buffy said?  Buffy said what she said so she could go get herself killed!  So she could play the martyr without feeling any guilt for getting the rest of us killed.  You seriously want her to die because of Travers?"

            "No, I don't-"

            "Neither do I."  Spike turned away from Giles and sprinted up the steps leading to the Council.  He ignored the shocked gazes of Harris and Faith and continued towards the doors.  He was going to track Buffy down and drag her out of this goddamn building if it was the last thing he ever did.  

            Spike felt another hand latch onto his arm.  He growled at the contact and ripped his arm away.  "Rup-"

            "Spike?"

             The rage blanketing Spike's mind fractured, cracked, and dissolved completely at Dawn's tremulous voice.  He spun towards her.  She stared up at him, blue eyes liquid pools of panic and fear.  "Oh, god, Dawn, I didn't know it was you."  He reached for her; his hands trembled as he cupped her face.  "I'm sorry.  Did I hurt you?"

            "N-No.  Where… Are you going in there?  After her?"

            "Dawn-"

            She grabbed his arm with both of her hands.  Her grip was fierce.  "You can't.  You can't go back in there."

            "Dawn-"

            "No!  You can't leave me here all alone!  What if you don't get out?  Then you and Buffy will both die and I'll, I'll, there'll be no one.  No one left… Mom's gone… Tara… Buffy…"  Her pleas trailed off into rasping, gasping breaths.  The fat, crystalline tears pooled in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks, creating pale pink trails through the dried blood on her face.  Softly, she said, "You promised.  That you wouldn't leave me again without saying goodbye.  That you'd protect me.  You promised, Spike."

            "I-I know, Nibblet.  But…"

            "Please… Please don't go."

            Spike gazed down at Dawn's tear-stained face.  Realization swept through him like a swinging sledgehammer, knocking him back down to reality.  He was about to do the same thing Buffy did, become so embroiled in his rage that he ignored all else save for the object of his anger, that he cast aside Dawn to indulge in his own roiling emotions.  Spike swallowed the rise of nausea in his throat.  Buffy chose to stay in the building; he couldn't save her if she didn't want to be saved.  Dawn needed him.  Buffy didn't.  "I won't.  I won't go in there."  Spike wound his arms around Dawn's shoulders and drew the trembling girl into a desperate, comforting embrace.  "I won't leave you."

            Dawn nodded against his chest.  Spike shifted her in his arms and led them away from the Council towards the van.  Harris, Anya, Willow, and Cordelia were already inside the vehicle; Giles, Angel, Faith, and Wesley looked at Spike and Dawn expectantly.  Eyes dropping to Dawn's face, Spike murmured, "Everyone get in the van."  He laid a kiss on the top of Dawn's head and eased her into Giles' arms.  Giles held his gaze for a moment before he nodded and climbed into the van with Dawn.

            Spike drew in a deep breath and pressed his fisted hands against his eyes.  A couple seconds passed in which he gathered control of his turbulent emotions and then he dropped his hands.  His eyes skimmed over the passengers housed within the van.  He frowned as he said, "Where's Charles?"

            Wesley pointed at the Council.  "Inside.  Emilia… said he was dead.  Travers killed him.  She, she also sensed that Buffy was there with him.  With Travers."

            "Oh."  Spike paused.  His teeth gnashed his lower lip and he said, "I guess that's everyone then."

            Faith took a step towards Spike.  "But B's still inside.  There's two minutes left."

            Spike locked eyes with Angel.  A slow tremor coursed through his body as he said, "She made her choice."  He stepped into the van, sliding into the first row beside Willow.  Angel climbed in beside him, and Faith shut the sliding door.  A moment later the passenger door opened and Wesley eased onto the seat, inching over to make room for Faith.  

            But the passenger door slammed closed.  Faith reached through the open window into the van and pulled Wesley towards her, planting a brief, fevered kiss on his lips.  She released him as she said to Simmons, "Drive."

            And then Faith sprang away from the van and raced towards the open twin doors, her black hair a streaming wave of ebony in the white light of the headlights.  

            "Faith!"  Wesley fumbled for the door handle.

            Angel reached around the passenger seat and latched onto Wesley's hands.  "Wesley, no.  No.  You'll never catch her.  None of us will."

            "Let go of me, Angel!"

            "No."

            "Simmons," Giles said from the row behind Spike.  His voice was tight and strained as he said, "Get us out of here.  Now."

            Simmons nodded.  He shifted the van into reverse and backed into the deserted London street.  Spike's eyes fixed onto the headquarters of the Watcher's Council as the van sped away, and he watched the forbidding building fade and melt into the night's shadows.

*                      *                      * 

            "Don't move."

            Moving was the farthest thing from Buffy's mind.  Her eyes focused on Charles' body, on his sightless eyes staring straight at her, on the scarlet blood staining his chest.  The pungent, metallic tang of blood invaded her nostrils, and her stomach clenched in revulsion.  She had been too late.  Too late to save him from Travers.  Like so many others in the past she had been too late to save.  Her mom.  Jenny.  Kendra.  She couldn't even stop her own house from blowing up or her sister from being kidnapped.  Buffy had had a chance to save Charles though; she heard the confrontation unfold in the office as she pounded down the hallway in search of Travers.  But the gun had fired before she could force her way through the door, and Charles was dead.

            Another one bites the dust.

              A harsh laugh escaped her mouth, one tinged with hysteria and laden with grief.  Buffy's eyes slid from Charles to Travers.  He was crouched over the body, but his eyes and his gun were fixed on her.  Buffy felt her lip curl back in a snarl, and a white hot heat of wrath and hatred shot through her body.  Travers straightened and shook his head.

            "Don't even think about it, Ms. Summers.  You'll be dead before you make it halfway across the room."  Travers edged around his desk and slipped a hand beneath the heavy structure.  Moments later, it reappeared, clutching a metal briefcase.  

            "It takes more than one bullet to kill me, Travers.  I've been shot before.  I stayed alive for a long time, long enough for me to kill you."

            Travers regarded her for a few seconds.  "Is that why you're here?  To kill me?"

            "That's about the gist of it, yeah."

            Nodding, Travers dropped the gun and fired a shot.  A bullet pierced her left thigh, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through Buffy.  Her left leg crumpled beneath her, and Buffy quickly shifted her weight to her right.

            "As you may have guessed, Ms. Summers, I have no intention of dying today, especially not within the next three minutes.  Now step back into the hallway and turn and face the wall."

            "Why?" Buffy said through gritted teeth.  "So you can shoot me in the back of the head.  I don't think so."    

            Travers sighed.  "No.  So I can get out of this office without worrying you'll try something foolish.  I don't plan on shooting you in the head until _after I get out of the building.  You see, Ms. Summers, you are my bargaining chip, in case any of your mongrel friends try to interfere in my escape."  Travers raised the gun and aimed it at her chest.  "However if you refrain from turning and facing the wall, I will kill you and shoot my way out."_

            Jaw clenched, Buffy eased her way out of the office and into the hallway.  As she turned to face the wall, her mind raced with a way to disarm Travers.  She couldn't let him leave the building, couldn't let him go so he could hurt more people.  She had to stop him.  Here and now.  

            Buffy heard Travers approach the office door.  He paused on the threshold.  Buffy licked her lips and shifted her stance, moving scant inches away from the wall.  She lifted her arms and laced them behind her head.  Travers' shoes shuffled across the tiled floor of the hall.  

            Buffy twisted and kicked with her left leg.  She caught Travers in the gut and sent him sailing back into his office.  He fired; the shot went wild, smashing into the ceiling and sending a rain of plaster on top of Buffy as she entered the office.  Travers crashed into his desk.  His briefcase flew from his hands and collided with the wall, where the case popped open and vials of blood and stacks of paper slipped out.

            As Travers slid to the floor, dazed and shaken, Buffy limped over to the briefcase.  She picked up one of the vials of blood.  A printed label with Connor's name and vital statistics was plastered onto the glass tube.  Buffy dropped the vial and snatched up another one.  This one had Dawn's name on it.  

            Buffy turned and faced Travers.  He gazed at her with bleary eyes laced with desperation.  He sucked in strained breaths through undoubtedly broken ribs.  Voice cold, Buffy said, "What is this?"

            "Buffy-"

            Buffy threw the glass tube at Travers.  It crashed against the desk next to his head, sending blood and glass shards onto his face and clothing.  "What the hell is this?!  You took blood from my sister?  You, you ran experiments on her?"

            "I-"

            With a snarl, Buffy threw herself on Travers.  His head smacked against the desk, eliciting a groan of pain from his blood speckled lips.  Buffy slammed him against the unforgiving surface again.  She backhanded him; the sound of breaking cartilage resounded through the room.  Grabbing Travers lapels, Buffy hauled him towards her and screamed, "She's a little girl, you sick fuck!  Not something to study!  Not your property!  None of us are your property!  We're human beings, not mindless weapons for you to use and abuse!  We weren't chosen for you!"

            Her vision clouded red and black with anger.  She slammed her fist into Travers' face.  Once.  Twice.  Again and again and again until his flesh was a bruised and bloodied mass, all purples and blacks and reds.  She raised her fist for another blow, but her arm was grabbed from behind.  

            "I think you made your point, B."

            Buffy pushed off Travers and stood.  She snatched her arm from Faith's grasp as she turned to face her sister Slayer.  Faith calmly held her furious gaze.  Body trembling, Buffy said, "You know what he's done.  To me.  To you.  To all of us these past few months.  He deserves to die."    

            "Fine."  Faith lifted her right hand and held Travers' gun before Buffy.  "Kill him."

            Buffy blinked.  Her mouth opened and then closed again.  The rage consuming her subsided, leaving behind confusion, sorrow, anger, and pain.  "W-What?"

            "Kill.  Him.  If you think he should die, do it and stop fucking around."

            "I…"

            "Isn't that why you came up here?  To kill Travers?  Isn't this why you left Spike and Dawn?  To come up here and kill the man that hurt them?"  Faith shoved the gun into Buffy's bloody hands.  Her eyes were flat and her voice was hard as she said, "Then kill him.  Become a murderer.  Become like me."

            "What?"

            "You kill him you become me.  Straight up, cold blooded murderer.  If you can handle that pull the trigger.  If not, let's go."

            Incredulous, Buffy said, "You want him to get away so he can come after us again?  Next time Willow might not be around to save you.  Next time he might kill Dawn instead of kidnapping her.  And you don't care?"

            Faith shook her head.  "I don't care."  She grabbed Buffy's arm and shoved her around to face Travers.  He slumped against the desk, barely conscious.  His breath came in wheezing, wet gasps.  Tears poured from his eyes, skating down his cheeks and dampening his suit.  Buffy could practically smell the fear rolling off him.  "I don't care if he comes after us again," Faith hissed into her ear.  "This isn't a demon, Buffy.  Or some all-powerful super-villain.  He's just a fucking old man grasping at straws.  He's nobody.  He had his shot at us, and he blew it."  Faith forced Buffy's arm up and wrapped her fingers around the trigger.  "So kill him and put him out of his misery.  Stop fucking around and make a choice.  Thirty seconds left.  Better decide quick."

            The gun shook in her hand, and Buffy thought it strange that the gun was shaking at all.  Then she realized she was the one who was shaking, trembling, shivering.  Her eyes remained fixed on Travers' face for a moment longer.  And all of the emotions that had been building and building inside her since the night she stood before her blackened shell of a home wondering if she would be able to get her sister back from this tyrant, all of the emotions careening inside her fragile mind propped up by a plank of righteous fury broke through her, and she bit back a sob.  

            The gun fell from her slack hand.  "I… I can't."

            "Fine.  Time to fly."

            Faith grabbed her hand, and the two Slayers vaulted over Travers, onto his desk, and through the plane glass window with its view of the London night sky.  The cool, moist night air rushed past Buffy as she and Faith plummeted to the ground.  They crashed onto a metal dumpster; the steel structure buckled and warped from their impact.  Buffy tumbled to the ground.  She rolled across the slick, glass covered pavement of the alley, and her head smacked against the rough concrete.  She was hauled to her feet by Faith, and the two women stumbled down the alley.  They made it a couple steps when the Council of Watchers exploded behind them.

            The heat wave slammed into Buffy and Faith, ripping them away from each other.  Buffy slid across the rough pavement; the flesh of her palms and arms shredded and tore.  She screamed as she collided with the wall of the nearby building, and then all was black.   

*                      *                      *


	50. On the Brink

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel. They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: One more chapter and a short epilogue to go.  Feedback is a wonderful and much appreciated thing.

Chapter Fifty: On the Brink

By: Wynn

            Death hung in the air, coating the glossy, dew soaked leaves of the surrounding trees in an otherworldly sheen, making them glow in the pale moonlight.  They were bright flashes against the midnight sky, miniature strobe lights straight from nature.  Pure black and white.  If only life were that simple and not a mesh of muddled grey.  

            Death softened the harsh edges of the granite crypts and tombstones, blurring the cold grey stone into the cool black night.  The world passed by Spike in a monochromatic blur, his eyes unfocused on his surroundings, focused instead upon memories playing and replaying within his mind.  It would happen tonight.  He would do it tonight, even though his body wanted to march itself back to the confines of his house and lock all the doors and windows.  But he couldn't put it off any longer, try as he might.  Procrastination would only make it worse, and the situation did not need to be any worse.  

            The pungent smell of decay, of wilting flowers and freshly overturned dirt, invaded Spike's senses, slithering around him and clasping him within its embrace.  He was back in Sunnydale, had been for more than a week, but the memories of the ill fated trip to England hadn't faded like the edges of the tombstones.  They were still as fresh and as clear and as harsh as ever, a picture perfect reminder of the uncertainty and upheaval that was his life.  He couldn't put off dealing with them or their accompanying feelings any longer.  If he did, he would drive himself insane.      

            The wet grass squished beneath Spike's boots as he strode across the graveyard.  Though it was late summer, the night was cool courtesy of the storm that had blown through Sunnydale that day.  The storm had turned day into night with its inky black clouds and rumbling thunder, whipping wind and pelting rain, keeping all, demons and humans alike, inside seeking shelter from the torrential downpour.  The storm had laid claim to Sunnydale, reluctantly releasing the town from its clutches at the first sign of oppressive nightfall.  

            Spike dug his hands into the pockets of his black jacket and hunched his shoulders against the biting wind.  He had stopped by Tara's grave first, briefly, clearing leaves and broken twigs off the small circular headstone, before continuing on to Joyce's.  There he had lingered, eyes drifting across the elegant script engraved on the marble, to the small wreath of greenery propped against the stone.  His thoughts bounced around inside his head like a rogue ping pong ball, darting from anger to guilt to despair in the blink of an eye.  He hadn't felt this out of control of his emotions in a long time, since that ugly time before he fought for the return of his soul, and he couldn't let himself disintegrate again.  There was too much at stake.

            Spike passed through the enclosure of trees and stepped onto the moonlit grass.  Before him sat a simple, unadorned headstone with a simple, unadorned engraving for a complex, beautiful woman.

            _Buffy Anne Summers._

            Spike stared at the stone until the carving blurred with the granite and became a formless grey lump.  He blinked the tears from his eyes and sat at the foot of the grave.  Crossing his legs beneath him, Spike placed his hands upon his knees and drew in a shuddering breath, filling his lungs with the heavy, moist air, willing it to dispel the confusion inside him.  His eyes drifted shut as he fought to reign in his chaotic feelings and restore some order to his mind.

            Time passed.  Maybe an hour.  Maybe just a few moments before he heard the slow and steady footsteps approach.  Spike opened his eyes as Angel sat down beside him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the tombstone instead of glancing at the dark haired vampire beside him.  

            "They never removed it."

            Spike shook his head.  "Everyone was so happy to have Buffy back they forgot all about her death… and any reminder of it."  

            Angel remained silent for a moment, staring at the gravestone.  "I didn't think I'd be able to handle seeing this, seeing her buried here, so I never came.  And before I thought I could come, I didn't need to.  She was alive again."

            "I was here every night.  I didn't think I'd be able to handle things if I didn't come here, try to hold on to whatever was left of her."

            They slipped into silence again.  Leaves rustled on the trees from the light breeze drifting through the cemetery.  Dark eyes darting to Spike, Angel said, "How are you doing?"

            "Bloody brilliant, Angel.  How do you think I'm doing?"

            Angel ignored the sarcasm dripping from Spike's voice.  "Have you spoken to her yet?"

            "No."

            "Buffy's not stupid.  She knows something's wrong.  You haven't seen her at all this week.  Dawn won't talk to her.  Even Giles… You need to talk to her."

            "Yes, because what Buffy _needs_, what Buffy _wants, must happen, regardless of what other people want or need or feel."_

            "That's not what I meant and you know it," Angel snapped.  "_You _need to talk.  _You need to tell her how _you _feel before _you_ go nuts and drive me and everyone else around you crazy too."_

            "Since when did you become all Joe Communicative, Mr. Monosyllabic Sentence?"

            "Since I decided to stop eating rats and sleeping in sewers and actually interact with other people.  I found out that not communicating with people who care about you tends to piss them off.  And it significantly increases the chances of one going evil."

            "So just because you got in touch with your inner teenage girl and chatted up anyone who would listen to you about your feelings, you think I should do the same?  If Angel does it, then it must be right."

            Angel sighed.  "You can stop trying to pick a fight with me, William.  I'm not the one you're mad at."

            Spike exhaled an explosive puff of breath, caught somewhere in the midst between a sigh and a groan.  He focused upon the tombstone again, his eyes drifting across Buffy's name.  "No, you're not."  He swallowed hard, forcing his roiling emotions from bursting back through his modicum of control, and pushed himself up off the ground.  Spike paced the length of the enclosure of trees, teeth gnawing across his bottom lip, hands scraping across his shorn hair.  "I'm not mad.  Not anymore.  I can never stay mad at her no matter how hard I try… That's the problem, I guess.  It's just… it's…"

            "What?"

            Fists clenched, Spike whispered, "It hurts.  I thought she'd changed.  How she thinks of me, I mean.  But nothing's different.  I'm just the same to her.  Only bloody good for watching her back, for picking up the pieces.  I'm not there fighting _with _her.  She… she doesn't want me there.  Doesn't need me there."

            "Maybe she needs you for other things."

            Spike turned on Angel, eyes flashing with anger.  "For what?  A quick fuck?  Is that all I am?  Someone to scratch that itch?  Someone to worship the bloody ground she walks on but not worthy enough to be her equal?  I can't do that Angel.  I can't be shut into only one corner of her life like a bloody doll she drags out and puts back on her whim.  We're supposed to be together… fighting together, but instead she blows me off like I'm as useless as the whelp."

            "If that's how you feel-"

            Spike collapsed back onto the ground and held his head in his hands.  "I don't know how I feel.  Everything hurts.  It's all jumbled, and I don't want it to be."  

            "I think you should talk with Buffy."   

            "Yeah… Maybe."  Spike smirked, a wry twisting of his lips, and he turned his gaze on Angel.  "So any reason you tracked me down other than to dispense your shiny pearls of wisdom?"  

            "I've spoken with Giles," Angel said as he stood.  "Everything's in order.  That is if you still want to do it."

            "It's not up to me, not really, but everything's still a go."

            "Even if you lose Buffy in the process?  She's not going to be happy about this."

            "Yeah, well, she lost her say in the matter when she left to go play hero."

            "Spike-"

            Pushing off the ground, Spike stalked away from Angel as he said, "Do we really_ need to go through this __again?  I've made my decision.  I'm not going to change my mind just because you disapprove."_

            "I just want you to think this through.  Make sure you're not going to do something you'll regret later."

            "I'm not."

            Angel held up his hands as he fell into step beside Spike.  "Alright.  Fine.  I won't push any more."

            "Giles agrees with me."

            "I know.  I was there at the big discussion, remember?"

            "I remember."

            "Good."

            "Good."

            "Spike…"

            Spike flashed Angel a smirk and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his black jacket.  It helped, knowing Angel supported Spike's decision, supported _him_, even if Angel didn't quite agree with it.  Helped him firm his resolve in the face of the upcoming confrontation with Buffy.

            "So," Spike said.  "You and the cheerleader heading back to L.A. tonight?"

            "Yeah.  Connor's recovered enough from that drug Travers pumped into him.  I think he's well enough for car travel."

            "Good luck separating him from Dawn.  Those two are attached at the bloody hip, all covert glances and goofy smiles."

            "Don't remind me."

            Spike shot Angel a glare.  "What?  Dawn's not good enough for your precious spawn?"    

            "She's more than good enough for Connor.  That's the problem.  As if our daily confrontations with evil didn't cause enough stress in our lives, now we have to deal with two hormonally crazed teenagers.  The long distance phone bills will be enough to induce insanity.  And then there's the sex."

            Spike blanched.  He blinked once and stammered, "The, the what?"

            Angel laughed as he saw Spike's expression of horror.  "Sexual intercourse, William.  Now, I know Victorian education was a tad stifling-"

            "Sod off," Spike growled, snapping out of his stupor.  "What in the ruddy hell makes you think that Dawn will be having sex with anyone, let alone Brood Boy Junior?"

            "Cordelia."

            "Cordelia?"

            Angel nodded.  "Apparently she's been watching them interact this past week.  She pleasantly informed me that if things keep progressing the way they are between Dawn and Connor, the time will come when they might decide to get, you know, physical with each other."

            "Over my dead body."  Spike took a step towards Angel, fixing the brunet with his fiercest glare.  Voice low and deadly, he said, "You keep your son away from Dawn, got it?  There will be no… getting physical, alright?"

            Angel grinned and his eyes twinkled with amusement.  Spike resisted the desire to choke the unlife out of him.  "You've come a long way, William.  Not so long ago you would have rejoiced at a little corruption of the innocent."

            "Not so long ago I would have ripped your kid's arms out of his sockets for touching Dawn.  Don't think the urge won't strike me again just because I have a soul."

            The grin faded off Angel's face, replaced by a mixture of seriousness, affection, and respect.  Angel reached out and clasped Spike's shoulder.  "You've come a long way, Spike.  You should be proud of yourself.  I am."

            Spike nodded, unable to think of anything to say in response to Angel's unexpected praise.  A smile tugged at one corner of his lips.  "Thanks mate."

            It was Angel's turn to nod.  He released Spike's shoulder and slid his hands into the pockets of his suit coat.  His gaze dropped down to the ground before locking onto Spike's face.  "If you need anything, you know where I'll be."

            "I know."    

            A small smile appeared on Angel's face.  "Ok.  Time for me to go, I guess."

            "I'll be fine, Angel."

            "I know."  Angel stared at Spike for a moment longer before he stepped back.  He tilted his head towards Spike in a silent goodbye and then turned and strode from the cemetery gates towards his car, packed with the entire brood from L.A.  Cordelia leaned across the front seat and waved at Spike through the passenger window.  He smiled at her as Angel opened the driver's door and eased into the car.  The engine revved, and Spike watched the car pull away from the curb, red taillights fading into the shadows of the night.    

*                      *                      *

            Willow hesitated on the porch before Emilia's front door, her hand raised and poised in midair, a few inches from the cream painted wood.  She didn't want to intrude upon the first moment of calm Emilia and Christina probably had all week.  The past few days must have been difficult and painful for both women, what with Christina's recovery from her kidnapping and both women arranging Charles' funeral.  But something tugged inside Willow, some force that made her want to check on these two women and make sure they were alright.  Maybe it was residual emotion from her conversation with Charles, during which she saw first hand his love for Emilia and Christina, a love that drove him to protect them at all costs.  Or maybe it was a feeling cultivated during the time she and Emilia were locked inside the same cell at the Council, a feeling to protect the fragile yet strong woman and her enigmatic child.  Whatever the reason, Willow still felt the need to come check on them.  

            But maybe they didn't want to be checked on.  Dropping her hand, Willow stepped away from the door.  She shifted the package clasped in her left hand.  Maybe it was too late to drop by unannounced.  Maybe it would be best to call and arrange a visit sometime in the morning.  Maybe they wouldn't want her to visit.  Maybe they didn't like company.  Maybe-

            The front door opened and Emilia stepped into the threshold.  Dark swaths of blue and black circled her eyes, a testimony to the last few stressful weeks, but her mouth stretched into a warm, inviting smile at the sight of Willow.  "You can come inside, Willow.  I promise we won't bite.  Unless, that is, you like standing on the front porch…"

            Willow felt her face flush at Emilia's gentle teasing.  A nervous grin curved her lips.  "I didn't know if you would be up for company.  I should have called first, but I didn't think about that until I was already over here, and I thought about leaving but I didn't want you to think I was some crazy stalker person who stood staring in front of people's front doors for forever.  And if I'm imposing or if you don't want company now, I completely understand…"  She trailed off and held the package clasped in her left hand in the air.  "I brought tea…" she finished lamely.

            Emilia motioned Willow inside.  "You're not imposing Willow.  A bit of company will probably do us good.  And tea at any time is a wonderful thing."

            Willow followed Emilia down the hall towards the back of her house.  Creams, reds, and greens dominated the color scheme of the house, creating a cozy atmosphere that made reminded Willow of winter nights before a crackling fire or basking under the hot summer sun.  Warm.  Inviting.  Like the two women who currently occupied the residence.  

            Stepping into the kitchen, Willow handed Emilia the small package of tea.  The tea leaves were of the same kind used by the coven in England, and the delicious flavor had calmed Willow's nerves many a time during her stay with them.  She had gathered her remaining tea leaves into a small bag before she had left Xander's apartment, thinking if anyone probably needed a nice relaxing drink it would be Emilia and Christina.  

            "You can sit if you want."

            Willow snapped out of her reverie at the sound of Emilia's voice.  Her green eyes snapped toward Emilia, who stood next to the stove, eyes and hands focused upon arranging the tea kettle upon one of the burners.  Flushing again, Willow eased over to the round kitchen table and slid onto one of the burnt orange chairs.  Her fingertips skated over the tabletop as her eyes roamed across the tiny kitchen.  The walls were a deep red, almost burgundy, trimmed with cream.  The cabinets were cream with glass panels revealing funky colored dishware residing behind the doors.  Three flowerpots lined the windowsill above the sink; each bunch contained tiny scarlet buds imbedded within the glossy green leaves.  Dangling before the window was a tiny bronze wind chime decorated with Chinese dragons and scarlet tassels.

            "I like your wind chime," Willow said, eager to break the silence that had descended upon the kitchen.  "Where did you get it?"

            "It was a gift.  From my sister.  She said it would bring me luck."    

            "Oh… I'm sorry.  I didn't-"

            "It's Ok, Willow.  Talking about Ariana isn't as painful as it used to be."  A faint smile appeared on Emilia's face.  She turned and opened one cabinet, reaching inside and removing two sets of cups and saucers.  Moving over to the table, Emilia placed both sets onto the table as she sat in the chair opposite Willow.  "Ariana didn't want me moving to the Hellmouth all by myself.  I was adamant though.  I wanted a change, a challenge."  Emilia rolled her eyes as a grin stretched across her face.  "Still indulging in my reckless phase, I suppose.  Drawn to the danger in living on the mouth to Hell.  Anyway, since Ariana couldn't persuade me to not come, she bought the wind chime.  Her way of making sure I was safe and protected."

               The tea kettle whistled.  Emilia stood and walked over to the stove.  As she removed the kettle from the burner, Willow opened the package of tea leaves and sprinkled some into the two cups.  Emilia returned to the table and poured the steaming water into both cups.  The rich aroma drifted from the cups and brought a smile to Willow's face.  Emilia replaced the kettle on the stovetop and grasped a wicker tray next to the stove, as well as a round tin.  Moving back to the table, she placed the tin and both cups onto the tray.

            A faint frown pulled at Willow's brows.  "What…?"

            "If you came to visit Christina, you'll have to go to her.  She's a bit… angry with me at the moment and refuses to come out of her room."

            "I… I didn't-"

            Emilia smiled, her violet eyes twinkling in amusement.  "It's alright.  I have a meeting I need to be at in a few minutes anyway, so I wouldn't have been able to chat much longer."  Nudging the tray towards Willow, she continued, "Christina's upstairs, second door on the left.  And don't worry about bothering her.  She already knows you're here."

            Willow blinked.  "Oh.  Um, thanks.  I… Upstairs, you said?"  Off of Emilia's nod, Willow stood and grabbed the tray.  She slipped out of the kitchen into the hallway and made her way to the stairs; cautiously, she climbed the stairs, watchful of spilling the tea on the plush carpeting.  Light illuminated the hallway from the room Emilia identified as Christina's.  Easing over to the door, Willow peeked into the room and found Christina bent over a cardboard box, hands digging through the carton's contents.  

            Voice muffled, Christina said, "Just set the tray anywhere.  I'll just be a mo."  

            "Ok.  No problem.  Take your time."  Willow stepped into the room.  The walls were painted a deep purple, which gradually faded into a pale lilac near the ceiling.  Gold curtains framed the two windows, and a tiny string of white lights stretched across the perimeter of each window.  In the center of the room, directly before the open bedroom door, sat a shiny brass bed covered in crisp white linens and a thick black comforter.  Cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly around the room, some opened, some still sealed with packing tape.  A roll top desk sat next to the door, and Willow placed the tray onto the bare surface.   

            "Brilliant!"  Christina lifted her head from the box.  She clasped a set of striped pink toe socks in her hands and a triumphant look upon her face.  "I looked everywhere for these.  I was beginning to think I'd left them in England.  _That _would've sucked."  

            Willow watched Christina slip the toe socks onto her feet.  She wore bright pink capri pants and a large black button up shirt over a metallic gold tank.  Her black tipped silver hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.  Standing, Christina flashed Willow a bright smile and said, "Thanks for the tea.  Oooh… are there biscuits too?"

            Willow blinked and looked down at the tray on the desk.  She saw two steaming cups of tea and a burnished tin.  Reaching for the tin, Willow popped the lid open and peeked into the container.  Shortbread cookies.  Interesting.

            Willow glanced up at Christina, mouth opened to declare the presence of cookies, and she jumped a little at the other woman's close proximity.  She hadn't heard Christina cross the room.  Still grinning, Christina lifted one of the cups of tea and delicately sipped at the golden liquid.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the tea.  "This tastes fabulous.  Thanks so much for bringing it."

            "Oh… You're, ah, welcome."  Willow swallowed.  She twisted her fingers together as her eyes darted around the room.  "I, um, I like your room."

            Christina shrugged.  "It's alright, I guess.  I don't know if I'll be staying here much longer though."

            "You're leaving Sunnydale?"

            "No.  It's just that my cousin Jeremy's moving here to work for the new Council and living with him will be infinitely more bearable than staying at Casa Mum's.  Did you meet Jeremy?  Tall, skinny, glasses, bright red hair like yours?"

            Willow scrambled her brain.  She somewhat remembered a lanky red haired kid in England, hunched over a computer in Charles' apartment.  "Not officially, but I know who you're talking about.  You two don't look much alike to be family."

            "He's not really my cousin.  Not by blood anyway.  Not that that matters much when it comes to family.  He and Charles were brothers.  Half-brothers.  I've known Jeremy for most of my life."

            Willow nodded.  "How is he doing with Charles… how are you doing?"

            The light faded a bit from Christina's eyes.  She glanced down at the tea cup in her hands and said, "Alright considering.  Charles…"  Christina bit her lip.  She placed the shaking tea cup back onto the tray.  Glancing at Willow from beneath her eyelashes, she said, "I wanted to thank you.  For helping me get out of that place.  Get out of that horrible device."

            Willow shrugged.  "It's no big.  I just did what any other person would do.  I- You remember what happened there?  'Cause you seemed pretty out of it at the time."

            "I remember bits and pieces.  I remember you."

            Willow felt her face grow hot from the intensity of Christina's grey stare.  She fidgeted with the hem of her emerald top.  "You, you said something.  To me.  Back at the Council.  You said gold and black and red."

            Christina smirked.  "Making absolutely no sense whatsoever, I'm sure.  Not exactly the ideal first impression one wants to make, now is it, sounding like a blibbering idiot?"

            A smile tugged at the corners of Willow's lips.  "You didn't… blibber exactly.  More strange cryptic murmuring than anything else."  Willow paused.  "What did you mean when you said that?"

            "I didn't really mean anything.  I was just saying what I saw."

            "What you saw?"

            Christina nodded.  "I don't see like normal people.  I see with my mind.  I see the world's energy.  With people it's their psychic energy, the essential make-up of the person.  It's sort of like aura reading but in Technicolor.  Like with Dawn, she's white and green.  Very powerful, very old energy surrounding her.  Connor… he has a lot of red, some grey, a bit of blue.  My Mum's lavender and green, a dash of yellow."

              "And you see red and gold a-and black when you look at me?"

            "Yeah."

            "It doesn't sound like a very pretty combination."

            "On the contrary.  I think it's quite beautiful."  

            Willow felt her breath catch in her chest at Christina's words.  Christina smiled again as she turned towards the tray.  She lifted both cups and handed Willow hers.  "You should drink up before your tea gets cold.  And then maybe, if you want, you could tell me more about Sunnydale.  And about you."

            Willow couldn't help the grin from forming.  She was sure she looked like the world's biggest goof with the world's biggest smile plastered on her face, but it felt too nice to smile, too feel a spark of joy ignite inside her at Christina's enthusiasm for pink toe socks and shortbread cookies.  Eyes locked upon Christina, Willow said, "I think I'd like that."

            "Good.  Me too."

*                      *                      *

            Something was wrong.  Buffy knew it, deep down inside of her skin and down into her bones.  Not completely, horribly, irrevocably wrong.  Just a little off kilter, a little left of center.  Conversations with Giles were more clipped, more formal than usual, and his eyes, normally shining with affection or irritation or frustration or a myriad of other emotions she elicited from him, were duller, more guarded.  Dawn barely spoke two words to her since their return to Sunnydale, and the words that were spoken were heavy with hostility and bitterness.  And Spike… she hadn't seen or spoken to him since their interlude in the stairwell at the Council.  Although Buffy hadn't exactly been up to conversation on the plane ride back to California; most of that time was spent in the oblivion of unconsciousness, and the remaining conscious part was a fuzzy, morphine induced haze to combat the lingering pain from her concussion and gun shot wound.  So coherent conversation for Buffy was a slim to none possibility then.  But as she'd recovered, grown stronger and more clear-headed, he still hadn't come.  She knew relations between Giles and Spike were tense at best, so she wasn't _too_ concerned that he didn't show up on Giles' doorstep to visit her and Dawn.  

            But he hadn't even called.  At least not to talk with her.  Buffy knew Spike had access to a phone because she had heard Dawn talking to him two days ago, briefly, catching a few snippets of the conversation before Dawn had noticed her and went stomping into the bathroom and slammed the door closed, muttering about the need to respect other people's privacy.

            Everyone else treated Buffy the same as always.  She'd received visits from Angel, Willow, and Xander as she coalesced at Giles' house, and none of them were cold or distant or angry with her.  Even Cordelia stopped by to check up on her, gabbing the whole while about the utter cuteness that was Dawn and Connor and how Lorne and Clem were planning on reopening Caritas.  For all intents and purposes, all was right with the world of Buffy Summers.  Travers was no longer a threat to her or her family.  Major changes occurred within the Council to prevent another situation like this from ever happening again.  She was alive, her friends were alive, and her family was alive.  But all wasn't right with the world because something wasn't right with the people Buffy cared most for in this world.  And Buffy didn't know specifically why they were angry with her, but she suspected it had something to do with the cause of all the strife in her life over the past few months.

            Travers.

            She gritted her teeth as his name echoed through her mind.  His very name was as grating as nails drawn down a chalkboard, and it set her whole body on edge, teetering on the precipice between sanity and insanity.  Even in death he still managed to fuck with her life.  For a moment she wished he were still alive so she could kill him.

            "Buffy?"

            Buffy blinked, jerked from her contemplation by Faith's voice.  Glancing up at Faith, she forced a smile upon her face that hopefully concealed the rage simmering beneath her skin from thoughts of Travers.  They were in the Magic Box, sitting around a makeshift table perched in the center of the main room.  Yellow light from the streetlamps lining Main Street filtered into the dark interior, allowing Buffy enough light to watch Faith watch her.  "Yes?"

            A flash of concern shot through Faith's eyes, but Faith refrained from asking Buffy if she was alright, much to Buffy's relief.  She didn't want to try to explain to Faith the emotions careening through her, how even now, a week after Travers' death, her anger still burned in her gut white hot and blinding, scratching at her skin with a desperate need to be released and unleashed upon the world.  Buffy supposed Faith would understand exactly how she was feeling, but that reason alone, that she was experiencing the same level of hatred and rage felt by Faith on numerous occasions, kept Buffy silent.  

            But Buffy also didn't want to jeopardize the tenuous trust that had built between the two women since the events at the Watcher's Council by lying to Faith either.  They needed to be able to trust one another if they were going to gain the upper hand against the remnants of the Council.  Petty infighting would leave them vulnerable to another attack like the one waged by Travers.  

             Instead, Faith smirked and said, "Exactly how long do you think we've got before there's a mutiny among the Tweed?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "Maybe a week or two.  Maybe tomorrow.  I'm sure we pissed off more than a few of the traditionalists with our power coup, and those fragile male ego's probably won't stand for being swindled by a couple of girls."

            Negotiations between Buffy, Faith, Giles, and Wesley with the remaining Council members had raged earlier today.  The death of Travers and the destruction of the London headquarters sent members scrambling to fill the resulting power void.  If things were going to change within the Council, they needed to change now before the old establishment reaffirmed its control.  Accusations and mudslinging occurred in both camps, with every major player playing every card in his hand in a gamble to intimidate and outmaneuver the other side into submission.  But in the end, the advantage fell to Buffy and co., thanks in large part to information provided by Elizabeth Barrett, interim leader of the Council and ally during the final fight against Travers, and Emma Rochester, Ice Queen Extraordinaire and Travers' spawn.  Buffy couldn't contain the shiver of revulsion at accepting any sort of help from Travers Junior.  Someday, somehow, she knew it would come back to bite them all in the ass.  

            But for now, everything related to Slayers and the Hellmouth was now under the jurisdiction of the newest branch of the Watcher's Council in Sunnydale.  The renovated Magic Box, as well as Tyler's abandoned dojo, would serve as headquarters.  Giles would oversee operations, reporting back to Elizabeth in England, while the remaining seats of power would be divided among a committee of five: Buffy, Faith, Wesley, Simmons, and Emma.  The inclusion of Buffy and Faith into the power structure had been the most fiercely debated point on both sides.  Buffy and Faith stood firm in the face of the opposition's criticisms, that they were too young, too inexperienced, to ignorant, never wavering from their desire to appropriate some control over their destinies from the Council.         

            And they had won.  A new beginning for Watcher-Slayer relations, hopefully one that shifted viewpoints of Slayers as tools to be used in the fight against evil to Slayers as people to aid in the fight against evil.

            "Yeah," Faith said, breaking Buffy from her reverie once more, "but they should know better than to take us on.  I mean, look at what happened to the last guy who tried to mess with us.  He's deep fried Watcher now.  You saw to that."  Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Faith continued speaking, waving a dismissive hand at her indignation.  "It's not like I'm crying over Travers' fortunate demise, B.  You did what you had to do.  It's understandable."

            Her mind flashed back to Spike and Dawn and Giles and their strange behavior of the past week.  Quietly, she said, "Is it?"

            Faith cocked her head to the side and regarded Buffy for a few moments.  The concern reappeared within her brown eyes and her brows tugged together in a slight frown.  "Something up, B?"

            Buffy sighed.  She pushed her fingers through her hair and rested her head in the palms of her hands.  "No… Yes.  Since we came back from England, things have been… different between me and Dawn.  And Giles.  And Spike.  And I don't know why.  I don't know if I did something or something happened in England I don't know about."  Looking up at Faith, she said, "_Did_ something happen back in England?  Something I don't know about?"

            Faith dropped her eyes down to her hands.  Her tongue darted out of her mouth and licked across her bottom lip.  Dark eyes returning to Buffy's face, Faith said, "They were a little angry.  At you.  After you left them and went back into the Council."

            "Angry?"  Why would they have been angry?  She had gone after Travers to protect them, to protect everyone from the evil smarmy bastard and his evil smarmy schemes.  

            Faith nodded.  "Look, maybe you should talk this over with them.  It's not really any of my business."

            "I've tried to talk to Dawn.  She just gets up and storms off anytime I say one word to her."  Buffy tried to stifle the bitterness creeping into her voice, but a week of cold shoulders, harsh glares, and polite distance had worn on her patience.  "And Spike hasn't come to see me.  He hasn't even called so I don't know how I'm supposed to talk to him if he's not even there."

            "Maybe you should go see him."

            "What?"

            Faith pushed away from the table and reached for her jean jacket slung over the back of the metal folding chair.  Sliding into the jacket, she said, "If you want to talk to Spike, go find him and talk to him.  Because it seems like he sure as hell doesn't want to find and talk to you."

            "Why-"

            "You willingly walked into a certified death trap, leaving the people who love you behind to mourn you _again_.  That's probably not going to sit too well with them.  In fact, it looks like it hasn't sat too well with them, if what you've just said is true.  So if you want to have things return to normal between you and Giles and Dawn and Spike, _you have to do it.  Not them.  They're the one's hurting.  Talk to Spike, B.  Before it's too late, alright?"  Faith sighed.  She shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stepped away from the table.  "I've got to jet.  Look, I'll be at Anya's if…"_

            A small smile appeared on Buffy's face.  New beginnings for everyone it seemed, including her and Faith.  If Angel and Spike could bury the hatchet wielded in a hundred years' worth of betrayals, then so could Buffy and Faith.  "Thanks.  For the offer.  And for the advice."

            Faith shrugged.  "Sure, B.  Whatever.  Don't get all weepy on me or anything."

            Her smile shifted into a smirk at Faith's nonchalance.  "I won't.  Don't worry."

            Nodding once, Faith turned and walked out of the empty Magic Box.  The faint tingle of the door bell jingled throughout the shop as Buffy gathered her jacket and eased it over her shoulders.  She glanced once more around the future home of the Watcher's Council before following Faith out the door.  Digging the key from her pocket, Buffy locked the front door and then turned and started down Main Street.  It was time to find Spike.  Time to straighten out the mess that was her life and make everything right in her world again.

*                      *                      *


	51. Aftermath

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN: Italics in the third section designate flashbacks.  

Chapter Fifty-One: Aftermath

By: Wynn

            Anya's apartment was dark and silent as Faith eased the front door closed behind her.  The living room blinds were drawn, concealing all vestiges of the night lurking outside the window.  Leaning back against the door, Faith closed her eyes and sucked in a slow breath.  She winced as a twinge of pain shot through her; her ribs hadn't fully healed from the flight from Travers' window.  She slid down to the floor, teeth clenched as her knee threatened to seize up on her.  No more jumping from third story windows for Faith.  At least not onto metal dumpsters.  The impact hurt like hell.

            Faith sighed and willed the tension from her body.  She had been tense all day, her muscles like steel rods beneath her skin.  Grating, pompous British voices did that to her.  More than once she had wished she could reach through the phone and bitch slap every single one of those whining losers.  She would have been fine with ditching the whole corrupt bunch, but Giles' spiel on resources and books and blah, blah, blah silenced any argument she might have broached.  Faith would keep doing her thing, regardless of whether or not the Scoobies decided to work with the Nerd Herd.

            Her breathing slowed as a week's worth of exhaustion pulled at her mind.  The need to cut loose, to leave Sunnydale for places unknown, sang within Faith like a Siren's song, luring her with the temptation of no worries, no stress, and no pain.  But she couldn't leave B to deal with those intellectual freaks by herself.  She couldn't leave Anya, not when Anya needed her now more than ever.  And she couldn't leave Wesley, even if Wesley had already left her.

            Faith rolled her eyes.  Ok, so he hadn't left _her.  Not exactly.  He had left Sunnydale immediately after the meeting at the Magic Box so he could take care of unfinished business in L.A.  Specifically, unfinished business with Lilah.  Faith sneered.  Lilah Morgan.  Another person on Faith's list of people in need of a good bitch slap.  Or two.  Or three.  Faith normally didn't indulge in jealousy.  If someone had something she wanted, she took it.  No fuss, no muss.  But when something of hers fell into someone else's hands… that was a horse of a different color.  Faith didn't like to share.  What was hers was hers until she said so.  Not that she would ever tell Wesley to his face that he was hers.  But he was.  He was her Watcher.  He was her torture victim.  He was her source of guilt and remorse.  He was her lover or boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was to her.  Hers.  Not Lilah's.  She just hoped the lawyer remembered that little fact during her meeting with Wesley or Faith would be arranging a meeting of her own.  Soon._

            "Faith?  You alright?"

            Faith opened her eyes.  In the dim light of the hallway she saw Xander leaning against one wall, hands stuffed down into the pockets of his jeans.  Pushing off the ground, she said, "Five by five.  Just a little drained from today."

            "How'd the meeting go?"

            "Pretty decent.  The Tweeds have decided to let us be for now.  If they have any brains at all, things will stay that way."  Faith stopped at the threshold of the hallway.  Pale yellow and green bruises colored Xander's face, remnants of Tyler's vicious beating at the Council.  Concern pinched the corners of his eyes and mouth.  His eyes strayed from her face down the hallway towards Anya's bedroom.  Following his gaze, Faith said, "How is she?"

            "The same."  Xander's voice was choked with pain and rage.  He sucked in a deep breath and continued.  "I did get her to eat something.  A grilled cheese and pickle sandwich."

            "Dill or sweet?"

            "Bread and butter."

            "Eww.  That's wicked gross."

            "Oh, yeah.  But it's what she likes.  And at this point I don't care if she wants caviar and champagne or Crisco straight from the can.  I'll get it if there's a chance in hell she'll eat it."

            Faith wanted to say something comforting, like everything will be alright in the end, just you wait and see, every cloud has a silver lining, it's always darkest before the dawn, but she couldn't force the words past her lips.  Lying had never been her forte, and she had never been fond of false platitudes.  Everything might be alright in the end, but right now everything was seriously fucked up, and neither Faith nor Xander had any clue how to make anything better.  So all Faith said was, "You better go.  Before it gets too late and all the demons come out to play.  Or you'll be stuck on the couch again, and believe me I know how not comfortable that piece of shit is."

            Xander nodded, his eyes still fixed on Anya's closed bedroom door.  He eased off the wall, listing to one side, his hand carefully clutching his stomach.  Faith wasn't the only one with still bruised ribs.  Eyes darting to Faith's face, Xander said, "Call if she needs anything."

            "I will."

            She watched him maneuver through the dark living room and snatch his jacket from off the couch.  The front door opened and a sliver of light entered the apartment, highlighting the haggard bent of his head and the exhausted slump of his shoulders.  He glanced back at her and a wan smile passed across his face.  Strange how mutual love for Anya and a murder cover-up could bond together even the worst of enemies.  The door closed, and as the locks slid shut, Faith turned and moved down the hall towards Anya's bedroom.

            She knocked softly and opened the door.  Like the living room, Anya's bedroom was dark.  A few candles burned on her nightstand next to the bed, but the weak yellow light failed to penetrate the oppressive black covering the room.  She could hear shallow breathing and the rustling of bed sheets as she entered the room and shut the door behind her.  

            "Xander?"

            "No.  It's me.  Xander just left."

            "Oh."

            Faith crossed the room and climbed into a plush armchair beside Anya's bed.  From this close proximity, she saw Anya's form huddled on the center of the bed.  Her left shoulder and arm were encased within a blue sling; a white cast wrapped around her right wrist and arm from her fingers all the way up to her elbow.  A knee brace stretched along Anya's left knee from mid-thigh to mid-calf.  Faded bruises marred her face; her golden hair hung limp around her head.  Her tawny brown eyes were flat and dull, staring blankly into the black shadows.

            Faith clasped her hands together in her lap, stifling the tremors of rage that quaked through her at the sight of Anya's appearance.  Moments like this made her wish she had struck the killing blow for Tyler rather than Xander.  Keeping her voice neutral, she said, "Giles asked about you at the meeting."  Silence.  Faith licked her lips and continued.  "He wants to stop by and see you but his British manners are keeping him away.  Some shit about not wanting to intrude."  Anya blinked, slowly, but didn't respond.  Undaunted, Faith spoke again.  "We, Giles and I, arranged a job for you with the Council if you want it.  Special Consultant to the Demonology division.  Big fancy title that basically means you get to boss all the little Watcher peons around."  Still no response.  Faith stifled a sigh.  This gentle and caring stuff was beyond her.  She communicated with hard fists and harsh words, not comforting murmurs.  Faith stood as she said, "Try to get some sleep.  I'll be in my room."

            Faith was halfway to the door when Anya spoke.

            "Faith?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Could you… could you stay?  Until I fall asleep?  I don't dream when you stay."

            A place in her chest Faith didn't even know existed anymore twisted up inside of her.  Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them quickly away.  Nodding once, she said, "Yeah.  I'll stay."  And she returned to the chair, tugged it closer to the bed, and sat down upon it, folding her legs beneath her.  "You can sleep now.  You're safe."  Faith heard Anya sigh and burrow down within her blankets, and then she leaned over and blew out the candles, settling in for a long night of dreams and screams.          

*                      *                      *

            Wesley slid his tongue against the roof of his mouth, savoring the residue of wine coating his teeth and lips.  He sat in the dark, in one of Lilah's leather armchairs, waiting for her to come home.  If she thought her use of Faith as a distraction at the Council would permanently divert Wesley from her activities, then she thought wrong.  He should have stayed with Lilah, stopped her from doing whatever it is she did during the chaos preceding the explosion.  He knew her, knew she had manipulated his vulnerability by manipulating his affection for Faith.  But Wesley would have hated himself worse if Lilah had been right, if Faith had actually been in trouble and he had done nothing to save her.  Whatever Lilah had done, Wesley could deal with it now.  Could deal with her now.  Now that everyone and everything was safe and secure.  

            The front door opened, and Wesley saw Lilah step into the apartment.  Her suit coat was draped over her briefcase and the first few buttons of her blouse were undone.  Rough day at the office then.  Wesley smiled.  Good.  Then Lilah was more likely to make a mistake, reveal more information than she would have otherwise intended.  

            She paused in the doorway, and he knew she had spotted him.  Her free hand coasted over the wall, flicking the light switch, turning on the two floor lamps in her living room and flooding the apartment with a muted yellow glow.  A slow smile appeared on her face as she locked eyes with Wesley.  "I was wondering when you would come see me.  I must admit I was hoping it would have been sooner rather than later."

            "My apologies.  It took longer than expected to clean up the mess you helped create."

            Lilah pouted.  She dropped her briefcase onto the floor and threw her suit coat over the back of her couch.  "Now, Wesley, don't be mad.  Everything turned out alright in the end, didn't it?  Everyone's back safe and sound in Sunnydale, including your precious little Slayer."

            "Yes, she is.  A fact for which you should be very thankful."

            She paused, halfway to the kitchen.  Her dark eyes cut towards Wesley and one corner of her mouth quirked up.  "Really.  So if Little Miss Psycho had bit the dust back in jolly old England I would be in trouble now?  What would you have done, Wesley?  Kill me?"

            Wesley held Lilah's gaze and brought his wine glass back up to his lips, sipping at the burgundy liquid.

            Lilah raised one eyebrow.  "Interesting.  I didn't know she meant that much to you if you were considering murder as retribution for her death."

            "Now you know."

            Shaking her head, Lilah continued her trek to the kitchen.  "Oh, how far the mighty- or should I say virtuous- have fallen.  You're a regular black hat, Wesley.  You've mastered the arts of manipulation and deception, and now you're contemplating murder.  Congratulations."  She reached into a cabinet and extracted a wine glass.  Moving over to the counter, she lifted the bottle Wesley had opened, glancing appreciatively at the label.  "Tell me, Wes, how does your reformed sinner like this new, evil you?"

            "Stop it, Lilah."  His grip tightened on the glass.

            "Stop what?  I'm merely asking a question.  Faith's worked real hard at redemption.  I don't think associating with a fallen hero would help her sustain her good girl status."

            "I was never a hero."  
  


            Lilah smiled, a dangerous, cat-ate-the-canary grin.  "No, I don't suppose you were.  That was always Angel's job, wasn't it?  Big soulful hero of the Powers That Be.  With you as his trusty little sidekick.  Although you're not so trusted now, are you?  He hates you."  Lilah poured the wine into her glass.  She returned the bottle to the countertop as she said, "Isn't it ironic that Angel's buddy-buddy with Faith, someone Wolfram and Hart hired to kill him, someone who completely fucked the love of his life over many times, but you, his friend, his confidante, gets the shaft for one teensy weensy mistake?"

            Lips thinned, Wesley said, "Are you quite finished?"

            "Why?  Have I touched a nerve?"  Lilah sauntered over to the living room, watching Wesley over the rim of her crystal glass.  She sank down onto the couch and spread her arms along the back edge.  "If push comes to shove, Wesley, if Faith's forced to choose between you and Angel, who do you think she'll choose?  The one man who's stuck by her no matter how much she's fucked up, her sponsor in Villains Anonymous?  Or you, her former torture victim, her failed former Watcher?"

            Wesley clenched his jaw and fought to control his ragged breathing.  He needed to remain calm if he was going to learn anything useful from Lilah.  Allowing him to be affected by her taunts would accomplish nothing.  He focused his gaze on the half-empty wine glass clutched between his hands as he said, "You're pathetic attempts at distraction won't work this time, Lilah.  You went to the Council for a purpose, under orders from Wolfram and Hart.  I want to know why."

            "Well, duh.  I didn't think you came all this way for pleasant conversation."  She smiled again and her dark eyes raked over his body.  Eyes sparkling with amusement and desire, she said, "Unless, that is, you came over here for another reason."

            "Don't flatter yourself, Lilah."

            "I'm not.  How quickly you forget, Wesley.  How loud you screamed.  How rough, how hard you moved.  I remember exactly how much you enjoyed our little… dalliances.  I think you do too."

            Wesley drained the rest of his wine and pushed off the chair.  He stalked over to the kitchen and placed the glass in the sink.  Hands gripping the rim of the metal basin, he said, "I don't care what you remember.  Or what you think I remember.  You meant nothing to me.  You were a means to an end.  And if you happened to provide a bit of amusement into an otherwise unsavory endeavor, then so be it."  Dragging in a shaky breath, Wesley turned towards Lilah and said, "I will discover what you did at the Council, and I will stop whatever it is you and Wolfram and Hart have planned."

            "Discover all you want, Wesley," Lilah said as she stood.  Glass gripped loosely in her hand, Lilah moved towards Wesley, her hips swaying gently beneath her skirt, faint smile playing upon her ruby lips.  "It doesn't matter what you learn.  You can't stop anything.  Wolfram and Hart have waited a long time for this moment, and they're not going to let a fired Watcher and his pet Slayer screw it up.  You can't stop the ride once it's been set in motion, Wesley.  All you can do is buckle up tight and pray to whatever god will listen that you'll survive.  And I suggest you pray real hard, or maybe you should simply consider what side it's safer to be on in the coming months.  I doubt it's fair Faith's."  

            She stopped before him; her arm snaked around his waist and deposited her wine glass onto the countertop.  Her dark hair tumbled across her face, and Wesley could smell the remnants of her perfume lingering in the air between them.  Chanel No. 5.  He always loved the fragrance.  Classic.  Sensual.  The epitome of what made a woman a woman.  Her fingers trailed across his clenched hand, and Wesley barely suppressed the shivers threatening to course through his body.

            Moistening her lips, Lilah said, "And in regards to everything else you said, I think I meant more to you than you would have liked.  And you may have convinced yourself you're in love with Faith, but think about what I said.  You'll never be number one with her.  Never.  And that's a fact I'm sure Angel knows."

            "Your point?"

            Lilah's hands drifted across his body, up the line of buttons fastening his shirt, to the patch of exposed skin at his throat.  Her fingertips lingered across his pounding pulse as she said, "You're a smart man, Wesley.  You figure it out."  She stepped back; a triumphant look glittered in her dark eyes.  "Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long day at the office, and I've been looking forward to a nice, long, hot soak in the bathtub.  I'm sure you can show yourself out."  She smirked.  Her eyes skimmed over his body again as she said, "Unless you care to join me…"

            "I'll pass."  

            "Pity.  Could've been lots of fun, Wesley."  Lilah turned and walked towards her bedroom.  As her hand closed over the knob, she said, "See you soon, Wes.  Real soon."

*                      *                      *

            The silence was oppressive, pressing down on Emilia from all sides, clogging her nose and throat with stale, thick air.  Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and her ears, miniature sonic booms within her body, unnaturally loud in the quiet.  The Bronze was closed for the night, officially for renovations, unofficially so Emilia could have a neutral location where she could talk openly and honestly with Rupert, although she now wondered whether she should have arranged this meeting in a more populated locale.  Only Christina knew she was coming here for the night, and with relations between them being what they were, namely on the shits, Christina probably wouldn't care if something bad happened to her.  She'd probably level Emilia with a narrow-eyed glare and mutter something about karma.  Not that Emilia expected Rupert to go all Ted Bundy on her.  Over the past few months, she noticed he tended to direct his rage internally, growing calmer and quieter as his ire increased.  So she felt as safe as one could feel living on the Hellmouth.  

            She took another sip of her drink and wiped her palms off on a napkin.  She briefly contemplated a meditation exercise to calm her frazzled nerves but discarded the idea on the basis that she _should _be tense.  This was a tense moment, not a relaxing one, although if Emilia became tenser she felt she would collapse back upon her like a black hole and disappear forever.  She was never any good at situations such as these, tending to avoid heated confrontations at all costs.  She wished Ariana or Charles was here; she desperately needed some advice on how to _not fuck up this conversation.  And tonight was too important.  Rupert was too important.  Her normal dry wit wouldn't suffice.  She didn't have any righteous anger to work with.  All she had were pain and lies.  Twenty years worth.  _

            Emilia started when the door to the Bronze swung open.  She licked her lips and tried for a casual pose, fidgeting on her bar stool as Rupert entered the club.  She froze when she saw him, her heart rate tripling in her chest.  He always had that effect on her, from the first moment she spied him across the smoky London club where he sat hunched over a glass of liquor, desperation and depression weighting down his shoulders.  

            "_You look like shit."_

            "_I don't mean to be rude, Miss.  But bugger off.  I don't want company."_

            "_And what do you want? To sit in your dark corner in this hellhole of a bar and drown all of your troubles in foul piss tasting liquor?_"_  
  
            _"_That's about right._"

            She ignored him, of course.  Emilia couldn't have left even if she'd wanted to leave.  The intellectual aura surrounding Rupert, an aura tinged with a sly wit and understated sensuality and a dash of danger and mystery, sent shivers shooting across her skin with its beauty.  He took her breath away, stole it and kept it for twenty years until the moment she'd found it, found him again.

            "_Are you coming inside?"  Delicate arch of her eyebrow.  "Or did you come only to look at my flowers?"   
  
            "They are very nice flowers."  Grey eyes twinkled with amusement.  "However, I did come to see you."   
  
            "Good."   _

            Rupert hesitated during his approach to the bar, dropping his eyes to the ground briefly before steeling his shoulders and continuing towards her.  He flashed a hesitant smile as he slid onto the bar stool opposite Emilia.  She wanted to freeze this moment in time, freeze the way he looked at her, with chagrin and hesitation and some fleeting flash Emilia dared to hope might be love, before she melted it from his face forever.            

            Emilia returned his hesitant smile with one of her own.  "Thank you for coming.  I wasn't sure you would want to talk with me."

            "I did, actually.  Want to talk with you, that is."  Rupert drew in a deep breath and locked eyes with Emilia.  The honesty of his gaze twisted her heart, and she gripped her hands in her lap to keep from shattering into a million, sobbing pieces.  "Before, when I confronted you about your, your alliance with Charles and Wesley against Travers, I was angry a-and shocked."

            "_And you didn't think I could have acted right along with the rest of you, put a blind eye towards Quentin while helping you work against him. I am not a child Emilia-"   
  
            "I know you're not a child! Don't you dare presume to think that I think of you that way or that any of this has been easy for me. It hasn't been."   
  
            "Yet you still lied to me."_

            Rupert sighed.  "For a moment, I did feel like you and Charles and Wesley had treated me like a child, as no more capable than Buffy or Faith to handle sensitive information.  But, after some time for reflection, and some time for ego deflating, I realized if I were in your shoes, if Travers had killed Buffy as ruthlessly as he killed Ariana, I would have done anything, _anything, to bring him to justice."_

            "Rupert.  Rupert, please don't-"

            "No, Emilia," he said, grasping her hands within her own.  Rupert leaned towards her.  She broke the gaze between them.  "You deserve an apology.  I-I behaved horribly.  You were weak and I took advantage of that to vent my frustrations over Travers and the whole damned situation we were in.  I… I know you wouldn't willfully deceive anyone like that, not-"

            "Rupert, stop.  Just stop."  Emilia pulled her hands from his and shoved off the stool, moving away from him, his apology, and his faith in her.  Nausea rose in her throat, and she pressed a fisted hand over her mouth.  She couldn't do this, but she had to do this.  He deserved the truth, even if he hated her for it.  She let a few tears fall for what might have been between them, for another chance at happiness dashed to pieces by her own cowardice and stupidity, for all of the days and months and years lost, never to be regained ever again.

            Emilia felt him approach and gently lay a hand on her shoulder.  "Emilia-?"  She shook her head.  Tremors coursed through her body.  She licked her lips again, tasting the salty remains of tears upon her lips.  Eyes closed, she whispered, "You… you said I wouldn't willfully deceive you.  But you're wrong.  So very wrong."

            His hand withdrew from her shoulder.  Apprehension and worry laced his voice as he said, "I don't understand.  Emilia, tell me.  I can handle whatever it is."

            A harsh laugh escaped her lips.  She needed a drink.  She needed more than a drink; she needed a miracle to get through the next couple of minutes.  Forcing her body to turn towards Rupert, Emilia said, "I… I lied to you, all those years ago, when I told you I had reunited with Michael, my ex.  My father… He thought it for the best if you thought I didn't love you, then you wouldn't come after me, then you wouldn't know…"

            "Know what?"

            "That… that you had a child.  A daughter.  With me."

            Emilia risked a glance at Rupert.  He stood perfectly still, eyes wide and locked on her.  She winced at the rage of emotions coursing through him, anger and betrayal and shock and pain, knowing this moment never had to have happened if only she had been stronger or smarter or more faithful.  If only she had followed her heart.  If only.  She reached out with her hand, and Rupert flinched away from her, jerking from his stupor into a blaze of anger.

            "I have a child?  A daughter?"

            Voice calm, masking her own set of turbulent feelings, Emilia said, "Christina.  She's your daughter."

            "How… what…you, you knew?  You knew she was my daughter, and you never told me?"

            "No.  We- I thought it for the best."

            "_You thought it for the best?  You thought that the best would be to lie to me about _my _child for, for twenty** years?  You thought the best would be to deprive Christina her father?"**_

            "I did what I thought would keep Christina safe.  You know how rare it is for Elves to have children with humans.  I never dreamed…"  Emilia shook her head, knowing her words were as insubstantial and transparent the wind.  She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she said, "I was young and scared and I didn't know what to do.  I went to my father.  He was furious, furious that I had become involved with you, that I had fallen in love with you, that I had been foolish enough to have a child.  And you had just become part of the Council.  He was worried that the Council would discover Christina, her heritage, and try to take her away from me.  From us.  So he forbid me from telling you."

            "And you went along with this?  Willingly?"

            "Yes."  A whisper, one soft syllable damning her forever.  "I was never strong.  Not against my father.  Not like Ariana.  I did what he willed, hating myself the whole time."

            Rupert clenched and unclenched his fists.  He whipped his glasses off his face and rubbed his fingers against his closed eyes.  "So, it was unsafe for Christina to know her own father because of his connections with the Council.  But it was alright for _Charles to be a part of mydaughter's life?  He had been with the Council longer than I had-"_

            "Charles and Ariana didn't know about Christina until she was five years old.  They didn't meet her until she was six.  I lied to my sister about the pregnancy.  Lied to everyone.  Said I wanted to see the world, get away from England for a while.  I traveled from place to place for six years, terrified someone would discover Christina's existence and come after her.  But she deserved more than a life on the run.  And Ariana trusted Charles with her life, so I knew Christina would be safe with him, with them."

            "And not with me?"

            "I-I didn't know.  I tried to tell you when Christina and I returned to England.  I tracked you down.  But you had moved on.  You were happy, settled into life as a Watcher.  I didn't know how much a fling-"

            "A fling?!  You thought I thought what we had was a fling?"  Voice rising with incredulous anger, Rupert took a step towards her and said, "I loved you, more than anything… You saved me, Emilia.  You were everything.  _Everything.  I would have died if I hadn't met you in that bar.  I didn't care anymore, about anything or anyone.  I just wanted the pain to stop.  But you, you wouldn't let me.  You made me believe I could become Rupert again, instead of Ripper.  You… you seriously believed I wouldn't want to know about my daughter, about our daughter?"  Rupert broke off, shaking his head in disgust.  _

            A pale numbness settled over Emilia, anesthetizing her mind to the raw ache within her soul, within Rupert's soul.  Ignorance may have been bliss, but knowledge was the most painful weapon imaginable, able to slice through defenses and beliefs and relationships with the strength of a wrecking ball and the precision of a laser.  Softly, she said, "I know there's nothing I can say-"

            "You're bloody well right about that."

            Emilia dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep from collapsing on the spot.  This wasn't about her or her feelings.  It was about Christina and Rupert and the relationship she and her father had denied them for the past twenty years.  "Christina knows.  About you.  She would like to get to know you-"

            "Let me guess, you think that's a bad idea?  Or maybe your father doesn't approve?"

            Tears pricked her eyes again at his jaded tone.  "No.  I want you two to meet.  I don't want to get in the way.  Christina's an adult and she can make her own decisions.  She wants to know you."

            Rupert nodded.  "Good.  Please inform her she is welcome to stop by my flat any time, day or night.  Or if she would like to meet elsewhere, she can call.  I'll meet her anywhere."

            "I will."

            Rupert nodded again, a stiff tilting of his head.  He stepped away from her; his steps were stilted, angry.  A sob broke in her throat at the tense posture and furious expression.  "Rupert-"

            "No."  His voice was cold, tone flat and emotionless, as he said, "I don't want to hear anything you have to say ever again."  Turning on his heel, Giles strode towards the exit of the Bronze.  He slammed the door open and stalked out into the night, and as the door banged shut, Emilia broke inside and collapsed upon the barren floor, mourning the loss of her love, her daughter, her family all in one fell swoop.   

*                      *                      *

            She found him standing before the burnt and hollow remains of her house.  Buffy stopped half a block down the road, watching Spike watch the house.  He wore a grave expression along with his standard black: pants, shirt, shoes, and coat.  The moonlight danced along the blonde streaks in his short hair and cast his eyes into midnight black shadows.  His beauty took her breath, snatched it right from her body, and stirred emotions deep down inside her.  A slow, aching want.  A fierce, burning love.  Buffy missed him, and she had been so stupid to sit and wait for him to come to her, lingering in Giles's apartment like some fairy tale princess waiting for her gallant knight.  She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding since that moment she forced herself to leave him and Dawn at the Council, and she felt a missing piece resettle within her at the sight of Spike.  Whatever it took to keep him safe and alive, she would do.  He was too important.  To her and to Dawn.

            Spike cocked his head to the side, blue eyes locking onto her hazel, and she started towards him, pulled by a force beyond her control.  Fate.  Destiny.  Love.  Maybe all, maybe one.  She'd fix whatever problem kept him from her.  She wasn't going to be separated from him again.

            He turned towards her as she finished her approach.  Buffy licked her lips.  A soft smile appeared on her face.  "Hey."

            "'Lo."

            Her eyes dropped at his curt tone.  His body was tense, one tightly coiled spring, ready to snap under the slightest pressure.  Buffy wished for strength, for more finesse than she possessed, so she would successfully navigate this delicate situation.  Subtlety and finesse were not her strengths, but she doubted knocking Spike to the ground and kissing him senseless would solve the problem between them.  Lifting her gaze to his, she said, "I missed you this week."

            "Did you, now."

            A slight flare of irritation ignited inside her, but Buffy stamped it out, keeping her voice calm and controlled.  "Yes, I did.  Did you think I wouldn't?"

            Spike shrugged.  "Don't know much of what you're thinking nowadays."

            "What is that supposed to mean?"

            "Meaning's plain enough, Buffy."

            "Obviously it isn't or I wouldn't be asking."  Buffy paused and drew in a calming breath.  She couldn't let herself get angry and out of control.  Spike was angry enough for the both of them.  "Spike, I don't want to fight with you.  I want to talk, not fight."

            Spike crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side, regarding her with cool, diamond hard eyes.  "What if I don't want to talk to you?"

            "What?"

            "What if I want to, say, abandon my friends and family and run into a fucking ticking time bomb?  Why don't we do that because it's such a _brilliant _thing to do?"

            Buffy stepped back at his words.  She closed her eyes as she said, "Faith told me you were angry about what happened."

            "Yeah, well Faith told you the understatement of the century there, Slayer."

            A bitter smile crossed her face as Buffy met Spike's gaze.  "So it's Slayer now.  Does this mean I have to call you Vampire?  Captain Peroxide?  Are we back to name calling?"  Buffy shook her head as she moved towards him.  The conversation was spinning rapidly out of control, and if it kept its current pace, they would resort to fighting before too long.  "Look, Spike, I meant what I said.  I don't want to fight with you.  I just want to know what's wrong and fix it.  Just tell me what it is and I'll fix it."

            Some of the rage faded from Spike's eyes.  He ran his hands over his hair and said, "Well, that's the problem now, isn't it?  _You _want to fix it.  You.  Not _we.  _Not _us_.  _You _want to fix the problem.  _You want to go after Travers.  I don't figure into the equation at all, except as an afterthought.  Someone to watch Dawn, that's all."_

            "What?  Spike-"

            "Do you remember what I said at the house?  Back before we left for England?  I said _we _would rescue Dawn.  _We would deal with that bastard Travers.  Not you.  Not me.  Us.  You and me.  Together."_

            Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but she snapped it shut again.  Fingers pressed against her temples, she said, "I don't understand why you're angry.  Did you want to leave Dawn by herself?  Did you want to let Travers get away?  Because we couldn't have dealt with both of them if we were together."

            "We didn't need to deal with Travers at all, Buffy!  Fuck, we already had!  We got Dawn and Connor back.  We fucking had Travers fired, Buffy.  He was running scared, grasping at straws, and you just played into his hand."

            "I… I what?"

            Spike cocked an eyebrow.  "You think he set that bomb to sit back and watch a pretty explosion?  No.  He did it to kill us.  And you… you went storming back into the building without a second thought, not one fucking thought that you might die and he would have gotten exactly what he wanted."

             "If I hadn't gone after Travers, he would have gotten away and come after us again.  He needed to be stopped."

            "And you were the one to stop him."

            "Yes."

            A strained laugh escaped Spike's lips.  He stared at Buffy, eyes filled with incredulity, voice silent.  A moment passed and then he said, "And you didn't think that maybe, just maybe, we could have stopped him?  Or not even you and me.  That Faith could have stopped him?  Rupert?  Willow?  Angel?"

            "I… I suppose.  But it's not their responsibility.  It's-"

            "-yours.  Because you're the Slayer, right?"

            "Yes."

            "Faith's a Slayer.  Why is it your responsibility and not hers?  Is she not good enough?  I've seen her fight.  She's more than capable of handling one old man."

            Buffy drew her fingers through her hair, frustration welling up inside her.  She quelled the need to scream, to kick and stomp and shout out her rage.  Voice tight, she said, "It's not that Faith's not capable.  Or that she's not good enough.  It's-"

            "It's just that you're better."

            The shock went through Buffy like a physical blow.  Her hands fell limp to her sides.  Brows drawing together in confusion, she said, "What?  Better?  I never said I was better than anyone."

            "You didn't have to.  Your actions spoke pretty damn clear."  Spike shook his head.  He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck as he kicked at a loose pebble on the ground.  Softly, he said, "Buffy, I'm not like your little Scoobies.  I won't sit quietly by the wayside like a good little sidekick and wait for you to fight the good fight."

            "I never asked you to sit by the wayside."

            "No, you never asked at all.  I was just there already."

            Her head spun.  Buffy sighed and clenched her hands into fists and tried to make sense of the past few minutes.  Nothing made sense.  It was like she and Spike were speaking two different languages, speaking two different conversations.  "I was trying to protect you.  I didn't… I wasn't trying to-to make you a sidekick.  I just wanted to keep you safe.  I couldn't bear it if you… if he hurt you."  She locked eyes with Spike and tilted her chin into the air.  "And if that's a problem, then I'm sorry.  My feelings are _not _going to change."

            The fight drained from Spike, leaving him slumped and defeated.  His eyes were tired and heavy with sorrow as he said, "I know.  I know.  But I don't need protecting, Buffy.  I've been around a long time, and I've been in some pretty nasty situations over the years.  I know how to take care of myself.  Just like I know you can take care of yourself."

            Buffy lost the fight to control her emotions.  "Then what, Spike?  What do you need?  What do you want me to do?  Because I don't know.  If you don't need me to protect you, if you don't want me doing my job and keeping the world safe from people like Travers, then what do you want?  Do you want me to stop, let Faith o-or Angel fight for me?  Do _you _want to fight for me and leave me to take care of Dawn?  Is that it?  Is this some macho man thing?"

            "No.  This is not some macho man thing.  This is some partner thing.  I want, I _need_, to be there fighting with you.  I want to be there with you.  I want to work as a team and not with you as the leader, ordering me around like one of your Scoobies.  I'm not going to be used as a tool in _your _fight."

            "You are not a tool."

            "What am I then?"

            "You're… You're… Goddamn it, Spike!  You're… I need you.  I need you there more than anyone else.  I need you…"

            "For what?"  His voice was soft, pleading, barely above a whisper.  "What do you need me for?  For a shoulder to cry on?  For someone to love?  For someone to love you?  For someone to support you?  For someone to watch your back?"

            "Yes."

            "To do all that I would need to be there.  With you.  Not left behind someplace you're not."

            Silence descended, driving the wedge between them deeper and wider.  They stared at each other in the moonlight, not knowing how to bridge the gap forcing them apart, wishing they could kiss the problem away and forget about everything but each other.  Buffy scrambled for a way to fix this, to soothe away Spike's pain and anger, but she didn't know how.  How could she solve the problem if the problem was within her?  

            And then Spike spoke, and all thoughts of solving anything fled from Buffy's mind.

            "Dawn… she wants to live with me."

            "What?"

            "Instead of living with Giles, or finding a new place to live with you, she wants to move into my house and live there.  With me."

            Buffy arched an eyebrow.  "She does."

            "Yeah."

            "And what did you say to her when she told you this?"

            Spike drew in a deep breath and pushed his hands through his hair.  "I told her that it was alright with me, but I wasn't the one she needed to be asking."

            "Dawn never said anything to me-"

            "I meant Giles."

            Buffy blinked, caught off guard by Spike's clarification.  "G-Giles?  She talked to Giles about moving in with you?"

            "We both did."

            "You both did," Buffy said flatly.  She felt her anger start to flare inside her again, and she clenched her fists in an effort to stifle her rage.  "You didn't think to include me in this discussion of Dawn's welfare?  I'm her sister.  Her guardian-"

            Spike's calm demeanor cracked, and a flash of irritation flickered in his eyes.  "Yes, let's talk about who exactly has been guardin' Dawn lately.  Because it sure as hell hasn't been you."

            "What-"

            "And to answer your question, we _did _think about including you.  But we chose not to."

            "Oh, you _chose_ not to include me.  That makes everything better.  Really, it does.  And here I thought you just forgot all about me and how I'm Dawn's sister.  Her family."

            "Look, Buffy, Dawn was the one who didn't want you there, and Giles and I chose to respect her decision.  She's not a little kid anymore.  She's got a sharp mind and she's capable of thinking for herself."

            "D-Dawn?  She didn't want me…"  Buffy swallowed against the lump that had risen in her throat.  She felt hollow, as though she had been sucker punched and all of her insides torn from her, leaving her a barren, empty shell.  Eyes wet with tears, Buffy whispered, "Why?"

            Spike sighed.  His face softened, the rage disappearing from his features, leaving behind a numb mixture of pity and remorse.  "She feels betrayed, Buffy.  She's hurt and angry and bringing up all sorts of past uglies from last year after… after they brought you back.  She said, she said you chose death over her.  Again."

            "That is insane!  I did what I did to protect her, to keep her safe.  I love Dawn, more than anything, and I wasn't going to sit back and let _anyone hurt her.  Ever again.  How could she think…"_

            "I'm not saying I agree with the Bit.  I know why you went after Travers, even if I don't agree with it.  But this is how Dawn feels.  She doesn't want to live with you.  Not right now.  And she told us if we make her, she'll run away.  Giles and I thought, for now, she would move in with me and then in a few months, when she's settled down, all of us, including you, could sit down and discuss it again."

            The words flew from her mouth before she could stop them.  She didn't think she could have stopped them if she wanted to.  The hurt bubbled up inside her, spilling over the confines of her body and out into the world.  "Why would Giles ever want Dawn to live with _you?" _

            Through her own haze of pain, Buffy felt a little piece of herself die as the light faded from Spike's eyes and his gaze grew cold and deadly.  "Believe me, he wasn't happy about it initially.  But he saw how I was with her outside the Council, and Angel-"

            "Angel's in this against me, too?"

            "This isn't about you, Buffy!  This is about Dawn!  She doesn't feel safe with you!  And she likes Giles fine but doesn't want to intrude upon his own fatherly duties.  So that leaves me.  She wants to live with me, and I want her to stay with me, too.  And Angel and Giles have used their contacts to get papers for me: a birth certificate, social security number, license, and everything else I might need to make her living with me safe and legal.  And, no, you _don't get a say in the matter.  You left your say in Dawn's affairs behind when you left her behind.  And I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it's already done.  She and Rupert are going to move her few remaining things into my place tomorrow morning."_

            Everything felt heavy.  Buffy tried sucking in a breath, but she couldn't.  Her lungs wouldn't work.  Her arms, legs, everything felt heavy and numb.  She blinked her eyes and licked her lips, tasting the warm saltiness of tears coating her face.  Her body shook and her brain spun and nothing made sense but everything hurt.  

            "B-Buffy?"

            She recoiled from Spike's hesitant touch and from the concern in his voice and his eyes.  Drawing back a few steps, Buffy folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders, trying to fight off the sudden cold that had descended upon her.  "Don't.  Don't touch me.  How could you?  How could you take her from me?  No house.  No mom.  No you.  No Dawn.  There's nothing.  Nothing."

            "Buffy-"

            Buffy turned and ran, unable to handle the worry and love shining on the face that had stolen everything from her.  Her feet pounded the pavement; her lungs burned from exertion.  And she ran.  Harder and faster and farther.  As long as she kept moving… She had to keep moving or she would fall apart.  The world streaked by her in a dark blur, and still she ran.      

*                      *                      *


	52. Epilogue: Enemy Unleashed

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer or __Angel.  They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, the WB, etc._

AN:  Here it is.  The very last chapter, sort of the linchpin in this massive two part series that has dominated my brain for the past year and a half.  Everything changes after this, and what I have planned for _Enemy Unleashed _makes _Enemy Incognito _look like a kiddy ride.  

I cannot show my appreciation enough for SpikeLover7 for sticking with this story for more than a year.  All I can say is thank you.  And I cannot thank enough everyone who has been kind enough to leave feedback.  Reading everyone's comments over the past year has been a joy, and I'm so glad people have enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Epilogue: Enemy Unleashed

By: Wynn

            She toyed with insanity for fifty years.

            Ten years into her captivity at the Council, ten years of probing experiments bordering on torture sessions, ten years of interrogations masking as interviews, ten years of constant stares and whispers from the various Watchers who were "lucky" enough to gain access to the Council's biggest prize and worst mistake, Ava tired of the entire situation and decided to become crazy to amuse herself.  Watching the Watchers scramble around like headless chickens, desperately trying to interpret her deliberately ambiguous comments, never failed to bring a smile to her face, which in turn caused the Watchers to work overtime to know how and when and why she smiled.

            But even insanity grew tiresome after half a century.  Playing puppet master to those who had betrayed her and sent her to her death eventually lost its luster, and Ava had been seriously contemplating another escape attempt when her cell opened and her savior in a Prada suit waltzed in with the most delicious offer imaginable.  Freedom.  Freedom with no strings attached except to do what she already planned to do.  And the sick and twisted thing was the lawyers would help her achieve her goals.  They were at her beck and call, her little minions to help bring about the end of the world.

            But first.  First, she would have some fun.  Wolfram and Hart would get its apocalypse, and she would get the return of her beloved.  But first.  First, she would get revenge.  Revenge against the institution that sent her to her death three hundred years ago because she refused to be a pawn in their little games.  The Watcher's Council had played with fire, throwing her into the proverbial death trap, laughingly labeled a test of her abilities, the Cruciamentum, and left her to burn.

            Now.  Now, they were the ones who were going to burn.    

            After all, Hell hath no fury like a Vampire Slayer scorned. 

*                      *                      *


End file.
